


Shattered

by starsandstark



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mad Hook, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 30,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandstark/pseuds/starsandstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Storybrooke's curse was never broken and Jefferson had trouble accepting the fact that he would never have his daughter as he once did. As Jefferson became tangled in a world of his own despair, Killian Jones was the only one that saw any hope for Jefferson's situation. Rated M for mature themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Jefferson ventured outside to collect the mail on the chilly autumn evening he certainly wasn't prepared to be accompanied by anything other than the crisp, bitter air. He certainly didn't expect a strong, firm grip to wrap around his wrist on his way down the front steps. He spun on his heel slowly, meeting the familiar blue eyes that always seemed to mirror his own.

"Killian."

"Hatter."

"You know I don't like to be called that."

"Well Jeff, how—"

"It is _Jefferson_ ," he spat, "or nothing at all. Do not _call me_ Jeff." He always hated the shortening of his name, thought it made him sound older than he was. Jefferson seemed to have a ring to it. A certain air of class, even.

Killian spoke softer this time. "Sweetheart…"

Jefferson's eyes broke away, his hostile façade failing just the slightest bit as he felt Killian's stare through his entire being. "What do you want?"

"You," he said simply.

Jefferson didn't really have room to argue. He was alone as always and the company couldn't hurt. Although he didn't know what exactly Killian was after, he had some idea.

They walked through the entry to the living room and past the grand piano to the hallway, his boots clacking on the hard wood floor. The walls were covered in luxurious champagne wallpaper with a subtle diamond accent. Dark frames hung in a grid formation and dark, heavy drapes framed the window on the far wall.

"Not even going to offer me tea?"

"You and I both know you aren't here for the tea."

Jefferson flipped the bedroom light on. This room was decorated much like the rest of the house: elaborately but with few personal touches. The bedroom was wallpapered in a white and black damask print, the headboard on the bed completely mirrored. A black chandelier replaced the traditional light fixture and the bed sheets were jet black.

"Your rate's the same I s'pose?"

"Hasn't gone up in four months," Jefferson said flatly.

Killian never understood it, why Jefferson did this. He was unsure if Jefferson was simply so lonesome he would accept the company of strange men in his bedroom. Killian knew it was partially for the money. Although Jefferson had the mansion Regina gifted to him a great deal of cash money was necessary to keep Jefferson's habit going. It was known throughout Storybrooke that Jefferson was a man to stay away from. He had the calmest demeanor but could snap at any given time. Doctor Hopper had informally diagnosed him with manic depression but refused to prescribe Jefferson any sort of medication, knowing that he'd only abuse it. And it isn't like Jefferson would have accepted help if someone offered it to him.

Recreational drugs were never Jefferson's thing until he completely lost hope in everything he knew. After Emma left Storybrooke everyone lost hope. Most of them moved on but Jefferson never recovered. Grace was gone and there was no hope of getting her back. Jefferson didn't see why there was any reason to try and rebuild any sort of life for himself without his daughter. Eventually he stopped watching her. He knew she was in good hands of good people who could give her everything and he felt hopeless.

"Are you ready?" Jefferson asked, pulling Killian from his thoughts. He turned, surprised to find Jefferson completely undressed, his pile of dark clothing lying in the corner on the floor. The scarf that concealed the scar on his neck was gone and Killian couldn't tear his eyes away from it long enough to look at another part of Jefferson's naked body.

Killian removed his pea coat, tossing it across the armchair. He toed off his shoes, peeled his socks off. He felt Jefferson's eyes on his body as he unzipped his jeans and slid them off. Apparently he was taking too long because Jefferson crossed the room and reached down, grabbing the hem of Killian's t-shirt and pulling it over his head.

"How do you want me?" Jefferson asked, holding back a sigh, as if he didn't know the routine. Killian never changed his methods, yet every time they got together Jefferson asked. He figured it was best to make sure his client got what he paid for.

Killian laid down, propped back against the pillows on Jefferson's bed and beckoned him with outstretched arms, one hand grasping the bottle of lube that Jefferson had sat out.

"Ah. Of course." Jefferson nodded. With a tiny smirk on his lips that formed out of malice more than anything else, he crossed the room, climbing onto the bed and slinging a leg over Killian's thighs. He felt a slick finger slide across his entrance teasingly.

"Tell me what you plan to do to me," Killian directed softly.

Jefferson groaned, pushing himself down onto Killian's slick finger. He hit his lip, rocking his hips just the slightest. He had to admit that this was his favorite part of the nights he spent with Killian. Jefferson _loved_ the feeling of Killian's long fingers probing his walls. Loved the feeling of being stretched wide by Killian's hand alone.

"First," Jefferson began, "I'm going to let you finger me, stretch me so damned wide, get my ass nice and open for you." He felt a second finger join the first one and rejoiced silently, letting his eyes fall closed.

Killian leaned forward, pressing teasing kisses to Jefferson's clavicle. "Do you like this?" he whispered between kisses, setting his free hand on Jefferson's belly.

"It's alright," Jefferson breathed, nodding. He never quite understood but it was as if Killian could get off on pleasing Jefferson. It didn't matter much what he did for himself. As long as his companion seemed to enjoy it, Killian could wait. Jefferson pushed himself down onto Killian's fingers greedily, taking all they would give until it wasn't enough.

"Another," Jefferson demanded.

Killian complied. He reached for the lube, brought it behind Jefferson's hips, slicked his ring finger and slid it in next to his other two. Jefferson finally moaned at that and leaned forward, kissing along Killian's bearded jaw until he reached the small earring dangling from his ear. Jefferson smirked, flicking his tongue across it before pulling them into his mouth. His lips closed around Killian's earlobe and he sucked playfully, his teeth grazing the skin.

Jefferson whimpered as Killian thrusted his fingers in quick jerky movements. He was loosening up rapidly, as he always did, and his knees dug into the mattress, unrelenting. He released Killian's earlobe, lifting off his fingers and sliding down to kneel between Killian's legs. He reached out, wrapping his thin fingers around the base of Killian's cock.

"Our agreement," Killian reminded him quietly.

Jefferson nodded. "You want your cock in my mouth? Shoved down my throat?" he asked, flicking his tongue across the head.

"Sweetheart," he said impatiently. "Please... come on."

Jefferson moaned around him and took Killian into his mouth completely, sucking him deeper. Killian reached down to guide Jefferson's head as it moved, fingers tangling in his quaffed dark hair.

"God, that's good," he murmured, thrusting into Jefferson's mouth gently as he threw his head back. Jefferson hollowed his cheeks completely, taking hold of Killian's hips and letting him thrust as his tongue hugged the underside of the thick, heavy cock.

In a moment of uncontrollable lust Killian pulled out and grabbed his cock, slapping it against Jefferson's lips. "You like this. You love it, don't you?"

"I love it," Jefferson said quietly. Whether that statement had any validity to it or not was another question entirely. He ran his tongue up and down the length and finally worked Killian in his mouth inch by inch, running his tongue along the veins, until his nose was at his groin, the coarse pubic hair tickling his cheeks.

"My god. Oh, you are _good_ at that," Killian chuckled dryly. He thrusted into Jefferson's mouth relentlessly and could feel himself being buried in Jefferson's throat. "So good," he panted. Killian pushed Jefferson back, his cock falling from those pouty lips with a slick pop.

"Come," Killian beckoned.

Jefferson did so obediently, climbing up to straddle Killian's lap once more. He heard the distinct snap of the lube cap and several moments later felt the same three fingers push inside of his loose ass once more. He groaned at the feeling and wrapped his arms around Killian's neck to steady himself. In all honesty Jefferson hated that Killian was so gentle. It was almost as if they were lovers. One could call them that in a sense, but they weren't. Killian was a paying customer. It's just that it was much easier for Jefferson to do this exchange with him because Killian was considerate of Jefferson's delicate state, so to speak.

"You're waiting," he concluded, receiving a nod from Killian. "Alright. Well, first, I'm gonna ride you at a maddeningly slow pace; I know how much that gets you off, sitting under me as my ass slides up and down your cock."

Killian chuckled and moved his fingers once more. A throaty moan slipped from Jefferson's lips and his blunt nails dug into Killian's shoulder. They sat in relative silence for several minutes as Killian worked his fingers deeper inside of Jefferson's ass, twisting them and thrusting them as deep as they could go in this position. He was already sufficiently stretched but Killian enjoyed making sure his recipient got _something_ out of this exchange.

"I'm good," Jefferson muttered after a while.

"I know," Killian whispered. As he lined himself up with Jefferson's hole he slipped his fingers out and lifted them to Jefferson's mouth to taste. Jefferson did so obediently, pulling Killian's fingers into his mouth and ran his tongue over them. As slutty as it was, Jefferson had to admit he loved to admit that he loved the taste of Killian's skin mixed with lube and ass. He whimpered, desperately wiggling on Killian's lap.

"Fuck me," he begged.

"I intend to," Killian chuckled. He gripped Jefferson's hips as he thrusted in, giving Jefferson little time to adjust because it wasn't necessary. He was nice and slick and _loose_.

"Talk," Killian purred softly as Jefferson's hand started working at his own hard cock. And in all honesty, this confused Jefferson. He never knew why Killian treated him with so much respect, but then would ask for him to say things that weren't exactly the truth. \

Nonetheless, Jefferson nodded. "Love this, love your dick, when you fuck me and when you ram into my tight ass," he moaned, head thrown back. "Love it when I ride you," he added with a grunt.

Killian groaned at the sound of Jefferson's voice and Jefferson took over. He reached behind Killian, steading himself on the headboard. He did his best not to look at his reflection in the mirrored furniture as he rocked desperately on Killian's cock.

Killian panted and met Jefferson's movements in the middle, thrusting into him roughly as fingers dug into Jefferson's flesh hard enough to bruise. The only noises in the room were the slapping of their thighs together and mixed and mingled grunts. Jefferson felt himself getting closer and an arm left the headboard, hooking around Killian's neck. He buried his face in Killian's shoulder, biting down on the thick flesh as he came. Killian followed shortly after, letting out a strangled cry as Jefferson clamped down around him and spilled inside of Jefferson, his nails scratching his hips.

Jefferson pushed off of him with a grunt, falling to the side of the bed. He definitely wasn't high enough for this. He was still coming down from his orgasm and his legs wavered as he walked over to the dresser. He grabbed the plastic card, then remembered that he hadn't been to Gold to purchase lately and opted for a few of the pain killers he bought under the table from Ruby.

"Jefferson," Killian whispered.

"Hm?" Jefferson replied, tossing the pills back with a swig of water from the glass that had been sitting there for days.

"Would- would you like me to stay?" Killian asked quietly as he slipped back into his clothes.

"You've never stayed before. Why would you stay this time?"

"All alone in this mansion... You seem like you could use some company."

Jefferson glanced over his shoulder before turning back to the mirrored dresser. "Why would I need that?"

"I'm trying I reach out to you."

"Excuse me for being a little put off," Jefferson spat. "I just let you fuck me for money. I'm not exactly in the mood to cuddle."

"You don't have to let me. You don't have to let anyone do that if you don't want to. You've got choices here, love."

Jefferson chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Oh, like _what_?"

"Jefferson, we've all suffered at the hands of Regina. Perhaps you-"

"No!" Jefferson cut in. " _No one_ has suffered as I have. _No one_."

"Life doesn't have to be this miserable. It must be awful for you not having a family. I know how much you miss your daughter but-"

" _Grace_."

"But you can't change the past. I know, I've _tried_ , but you can move on."

Move on? _Move on_. The words didn't make sense to Jefferson. He had lost everything at the hands of Regina and now there was no hope for getting it back. He didn't see any reason to try and get better. He was living a life without purpose and didn't have any plan to change that anytime soon. Jefferson lunged for the handgun that set atop the dresser next to his box of narcotics.

"Get out!" he snarled, pointing the barrel at the center of Killian's chest.

"Jefferson," Killian pleaded softly.

"Get the fuck out of my house!" he snapped, cocking the gun and taking several steps toward Killian. He motioned to the bedroom door with the barrel and Killian gave no more resistance, pulling the wad of money from his pocket. He tossed it on the bed and left without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Killian saw Jefferson was when Jefferson was on his way out of the liquor store. Killian was watching with piercing eyes as Jefferson, dressed in all black, walked home, one hand in his pocket and the other carrying a brown paper bag. Killian was drawn to him instantly whether it was because of Jefferson's careless movements, mysterious eyes hidden behind dark lashes, or his gorgeous pout that never seemed to leave his mouth.

The second time Killian saw Jefferson was when he held the door for him at the supermarket. Their hands brushed briefly and Jefferson forced himself to mutter a 'thank you'. As he walked past the produce he heard several of the town's women muttering things about the mysterious man in black.

The third time Killian saw Jefferson was at Granny's where he was sitting by himself in a booth. Killian was alone as well so he thought it appropriate to slide in on the opposite side of the table and welcome himself to a bite of Jefferson's pie. Jefferson didn't exactly take well to Killian joining in on his sulking session, left his payment on the table and left without a word. That's when Ruby pulled Killian aside and told her about Jefferson, his bad habits, his history, his occupation - for lack of a better word.

Ruby's story was simple: Jefferson lived alone and had no family. Because of this he was depressed and lived alone in the large house Regina gifted to him. After Emma left Storybrooke, Jefferson began drinking heavily. He would rent himself out to any of the men in town who would have him and in turn use the money to buy whatever he desired from Gold. Only a handful of people knew Gold was the one to go to for narcotics – as only a few in Storybrooke ever had the need for them.

Killian still wasn't sure how he'd gone so long and not noticed Jefferson around Storybrooke. Jefferson was entirely distinct; tall and always dressed in black and gray no matter the weather. A man like Jefferson was hard to miss.

It was an overcast day when Killian decided to go talk to the mad man. He knew Jefferson was most likely at home and didn't waste time leaving his small apartment. Jefferson's house looked much like it always had; locked up tight with no signs of anyone having lived there. However, the smell of burning firewood and the smoke coming from the chimney gave it away.

Killian tapped on the door with his knuckles. He didn't really know why he was doing this or what he would say when Jefferson answered the door. He had ill feelings about the way things ended the last time they saw each other and he wanted _that_ off his chest, to say the least.

Jefferson was never one for dramatics. Okay, so he was, just not right away. He opened the door with a plain unreadable face. His eyes were their ever-vibrant blue and his pouty lips were chapped and dry. He was dressed much less lavishly than usual wearing, black jeans and a black V-neck sweater, the scar on his neck entirely visible.

"Go away," Jefferson said simply. Something about the way he said it made him sound like a child. As he went to close the door Killian caught it.

"I'd like to talk."

"About?"

"You know what about. Don't play games, Hatter." Killian pushed the door and walked into the large house, passed a perturbed Jefferson, and made his way to the kitchen to sit at the breakfast table. "I'll have that tea now."

Jefferson grunted but said nothing. He knew what Killian was capable of and didn't want to test _those_ waters. He stepped over to the stove behind Killian's back and set about making them tea. As Killian sat, he studied the table top and swiped his fingers through the fine white powder on the surface.

"I see you've been to see Gold," Killian muttered, his tone reflecting his disapproval of Jefferson's life choices. It wasn't any of his business but he still couldn't fathom what a man like Jefferson was doing wasting his days away getting high in this lavishly decorated house.

Jefferson's alert voice caught Killian off guard. "What does it matter to you what I spend my days doing? You've got no obligation to me."

"Why is the idea of someone genuinely caring such a foreign concept to you?"

"No one's ever bothered with me before. Now you come out of nowhere and ask me to open up to you? That isn't how it works, Killian. You've been using me—"

"I do not _use_ _you_ ," Killian scoffed appropriately.

Jefferson rolled his eyes as if Killian could see him. "You've been _hiring_ me for the past few months without little concern. Why now?'

Killian spoke in a quiet, reserved manner. "I've wanted you to let me in for a long time, Jefferson. I just figured now is the best time to act because you're slipping further and further away from the reality of your situation."

Jefferson finally circled the kitchen and came over with two cups of steaming tea, sliding one in front of Killian and sitting down with the other. He looked up at Killian but said nothing. His facial expression was neutral, almost as if he was asking Killian to continue.

Killian took a long, exaggerated sip of his tea. He licked his lips, setting the cup down and knocking his rings against the side of the teacup idly. They sat in relative silence for several minutes until Jefferson could no longer stand it.

"Are you going to continue with what you were saying or act as if you didn't just allude to the fact that you have feelings for me?"

"Feelings," Killian scoffed. "How do you figure?"

Jefferson's brow rose. "Well, you said you wanted me to let you in for a long time and seeing as we've had sex before, it's certainly not an innuendo, is it? There's only one thing you could be talking about."

"Just because you choose to see me as a hardened man doesn't mean it's so."

"Why me?" Jefferson asked without much thought. The fact he asked such a thing revealed that he had, in fact, thought about it before. The truth was Jefferson wasn't really sure about how he was supposed to feel. A man who had been a pirate in a prior life to hire a person for their sexual services was not entirely unheard of. But one who had feelings for the person he hired wasn't exactly orthodox.

"Why not you? Jefferson, what makes you think you're so formidable?"

The Hatter's eyes rolled halfheartedly. "I'm a whore."

"You certainly aren't."

"I sell myself to men like _you_ so you can use my body however you wish for sexual pleasure. What do you call _that_?"

Killian thought for a moment. "Desperation."

Jefferson motioned toward the front door. "Get out."

"Jefferson—"

"Get out—"

" _No_!" Killian snapped suddenly, slamming his palm against the table. Their teacups rattled with the motion and tea sloshed over the sides of their cups. "Why is it so hard for you to get past what's happened? For god's sake, Jefferson, have some self-respect!"

"For what?" Jefferson sneered. "For you? I'd rather die."

"How 'bout for your daughter then?"

"Why? So I can remind myself that she's no longer mine? "D'you have any idea what it's like to watch her day in and day out happy with a new family... with a new father?"

"Why don't you _tell her_?"

"And destroy her reality? I'm trapped by knowledge, Killian. How cruel do you think I am? You think I'd inflict that awareness on my daughter? It's hard enough to live in a land where you don't belong but knowing it, holding conflicting realities in your head, will drive you _mad_."

"Then _do something_ about it!"

"I can't. I'm stuck. _Stuck_. Don't you understand that?" Jefferson asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Why are you so resistant?"

"Why are you so _insistent_?"

Killian rolled his eyes. "I've told you, sweetheart. I'm looking out for your best interest."

"Right now it would be in _your_ best interest to leave."

"Or what, you'll point a gun at me again? Because that worked so well last time."

Jefferson snickered. "You left, didn't you?"

"I was tired of your incessant whining. You know, Jefferson, I thought you were truly incapable of being happy and moving on. But now I've found that you're just a stubborn son of a bitch. A man who's not willing to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets." Killian stood then, walking out of the house silently as Jefferson sat, mulling the words over in his mind.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Jefferson wrapped his coat around his torso tightly with one arm as he pulled the door closed behind him. Down the driveway, Jefferson slid into his black Cadillac comfortably, sighing as he turned the key and the engine purred to life. He turned the heater on full blast despite the fact that the car hadn't warmed up yet and pulled out of the drive way. He should really have fastened his seat belt but he wasn't going far and traffic tickets weren't a normal occurrence in Storybrooke.

Over the past week Jefferson had thought a lot about what Killian said. He began to wonder _why_ he did the drugs, drank the liquor, fucked the men. Initially it had been a way of escape and now it was just a way of survival. It's not like Jefferson _enjoyed_ doing those things, it's just that doing them had become habit and he didn't really know any other way out. So last night Jefferson came up with a resolution. Any time he felt like doing a line or four, every time he felt the urge to head toward the liquor cabinet, he was going to leave his house. He didn't really have another step beyond leaving, but leaving and just _driving_ gave Jefferson an undefined sense of calm.

As he drove along the interstate and toward town, the thought of visiting Killian briefly crossed his mind but doing so would be admitting defeat and Jefferson was never great at doing so which is partially the reason he had trouble confronting his downfall. The thing that struck Jefferson the hardest was when Killian told him to have some self-respect for Grace's sake if nothing else. And Jefferson _knew_ Killian was right and that hurt even worse than the fact that Jefferson couldn't bring himself to do such a thing.

Most of this came to light in the early hours one morning when Jefferson awoke, passed out on the living room floor from the overwhelming amount of substance in his body. He felt near death but managed to pull himself onto the sofa and decide that he would never again combine blow and an entire bottle of whiskey. _Ever_.

He also knew, in part, that he was in denial but he just couldn't realize _how_ in denial of his situation that he really was. Grace was gone. Grace had been gone for 28 years and then Emma came. But she was gone now too and the curse still lingered over Storybrooke. If Jefferson wasn't going to begin accepting that, he was going to end up dead.

He pulled into Granny's roughly 15 minutes later, keeping his head down as he walked through the front door. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, not that anyone would ever speak to him anyway. Word of Jefferson's personal life had gotten around town and aside from Killian and Ruby, no one volunteered to speak to him.

He settled into the corner booth with his back to the rest of the diner so he wouldn't have to confront the prying eyes and whispers. His hands rested atop the table and he stared at them for the longest while until Ruby could slip back from behind the counter and cross over to him. She slid into the opposite side of Jefferson's booth, a small smile settled on her burgundy lips.

"What are you doing here?"

Jefferson didn't raise his eyes as Ruby spoke. He couldn't bring himself to look at her and immediately regretted the decision to leave his house, his sanctuary. His social anxiety was at an all-time high and he was unsure whether or not his talk with Killian had anything to do with it. As much as Jefferson tried to ignore it he began to feel more and more like the brute of a man understood him. And to be fair Killian wasn't exactly a brute. He could be, but to Jefferson Killian always held some sort of standard for the way he treated the poor man.

It took several minutes for what Ruby asked to sink in and Jefferson's head jerked in a frantic movement.

"Just— uh, nothing," he muttered.

"You hungry?" Ruby inquired, ducking her head lower in attempt to meet his gaze. "When's the last time you ate?"

"I—" Jefferson paused in remembrance and without hearing an answer, Ruby patted Jefferson's hand and left momentarily. Jefferson exhaled slowly when she left, but moments later Ruby returned with a grilled cheese sandwich and a large pile of fries.

He cleared his throat and looked at her appropriately this time. "Thank— thank you," he nodded.

"You know, if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Jefferson smiled the slightest and gave Ruby a nod, just a tiny downward jerk of his head. "Thank you," he repeated. He faintly heard Granny's voice from behind him somewhere and Ruby slipped away once more, leaving Jefferson to enjoy his dinner.

He finished shortly, leaving a tip and payment on the table, and walked. He wasn't sure where he was going but it was in the opposite direction of both Gold's shop and the liquor store. He didn't know how he ended up at the boat dock because the walk was a blur but he was there. Maybe it was a subconscious move but Jefferson soon realized he was standing in front of the houseboat that Killian called home.

But he couldn't go in. He couldn't even _knock_ because he couldn't face Killian in the emotional state he was in. He knew better. He knew it would inevitably lead to a shouting match or a sass-off or maybe just more fantastic sex. But Jefferson was tired of sex. He was tired of shouting, he was tired of acting like everything would be _fine_ because it would never be _fine._ He was doomed to live a life in the large house Regina had given him – or rather, cursed him with. But if he could, Jefferson would trade his house, his car, his everything if he could be with his daughter because Grace was the only thing that ever gave his life meaning and now that she was no longer his, he didn't feel as if there was anything left to live for.

Jefferson had contemplated suicide before. He tried with pills but all that lead to was a physical state worse than a hangover and several days in the hospital. But once again when the three days were up, he found himself alone again in his huge home with no company other than the beautiful furnishings.

The longer that Jefferson remembered these things the more he believed that he should allow Killian into his life. It seemed like such an impossibility but he would at least have someone to talk to. He couldn't think of any reason why it would be a bad thing other than the fact that Killian would make him behave and deter him from using again. But maybe some discipline would do Jefferson some good. He thought about getting a job but it seemed fruitless because having sex with other men was a lot easier than work and the payment was immediate.

Jefferson attempted to find a hobby to occupy his time but by default he continued making hats which only led to another very low point in his life. The more he looked at hats, the more he thought about Wonderland, and the more he thought about Wonderland the more he thought about Grace, and he couldn't have that.

"This seat taken?"

A soft voice brought Jefferson out of his thoughts and he blinked, looking up to see those all-too-familiar leather boots. He heaved a sigh and shook his head as Killian plopped onto the bench beside him.

"What are you doing here?" Killian inquired.

Jefferson shrugged, clearing his throat before answering. "Thinking. Trying not to use."

Killian was taken aback both by Jefferson's words and the tone of his voice. Usually Jefferson was full of confidence but not this evening. They were quiet and almost timid as he shamefully admitted the truth.

"That's… that's good, Jefferson. I'm glad to hear that. Any reason for that?"

"I thought— I've thought a lot about what said these past few days."

"And?" Killian quipped.

"You—… you're right, I'm so self-destructive that I don't even remember who I _am_ anymore. All I think about is Grace. Or how I'd love to see Regina's body in the morgue.

"That makes two of us," Killian murmured, staring down at the wooden dock planks.

"It wouldn't solve anything," Jefferson sighed apologetically. "It would give me a few moments of happiness caused by revenge but I would still be left the same broken person in the end."

"So you're admitting that you're broken?"

Jefferson nodded, reaching up to adjust his scarf as the first snowflakes of the night began to fall. His voice cracked as he spoke. "I don't know _what to do_. I don't know how to deal with this, how to fix it. I-I thought about talking to Dr. Hopper but he doesn't know about the curse"

"You haven't got many options," Killian agreed with a scowl.

Jefferson ran a hand through his quaffed hair and murmured in agreement. "I need a distraction, a hobby, a purpose. Those are things I just can't have."

"You could find a hobby. Though I guess you've tried that before."

"Hence the name Hatter. Maybe I'll get a pet… a dog, name it Spot." Jefferson shrugged. "Just a little bit of normalcy. Anything, _anything_ to keep from feeling this pain because I can't, I literally _cannot_ deal with this any longer. It's crushing me. I feel as if I'm being murdered slowly, intimately, in the way that could bring me the most pain."

"Jefferson, I don't know what you're going through. I cannot _pretend_ to know how you must feel about losing your daughter. But I _do_ know how it feels to be alone, to feel like you'd give anything for just for someone to listen and understand. And if you'll let me, I could be that person."

"I wouldn't mind that," Jefferson replied in a whisper.


	4. Chapter 4

It was early in the morning when Killian's phone rang, shrill and obnoxious, against the silence of his darkened bedroom. His heart beating rapidly, he scrambled to find his phone on the cluttered nightstand. Only one person would ever call this late.

"Yes?" Killian answered, scrubbing at his face as if would help himself wake up.

"Killian?" Jefferson croaked. There was no denying that Jefferson had been crying. A lot. Probably for hours by that point. And he'd definitely been drinking.

"What is it, love?"

"Did I wake you? I-I probably did. I'm sorry, go back to sleep, um—"

"No! No, it's alright. Have you been drinking?"

Jefferson sniffled. "Kind of. Um, kind of a lot."

"Why?"

"I'm tired," Jefferson sobbed quietly, his voice muffled against his hand that was clasped over his quivering mouth. "I'm tired and I'm exhausted and I don't want to do it anymore. I miss my Grace. I miss her. I'd rather be dead."

"Jefferson," Killian cut in, his hoarse voice sharp with intent. "Don't say that."

"Sometimes when I'm driving I'll just imagine how it would be for someone T-bone me and sometimes I wish for it because everything would just stop feeling!"

Killian slipped out of bed, held the phone to his shoulder with his ear and pulled on his coat that hung by the door. "Hold on, I'm coming. Stay on the phone with me."

"No, you—you don't have to come—"

"Stay on the phone with me," Killian pleaded, stepping into his house slippers. He rushed through the kitchen, grabbing his keys from their spot next to the door. He heard Jefferson sniffle on the other line, but wasn't comforted until he asked, "Are you there?"

It came out as a quiet whine, as if Jefferson wished it wasn't true. "I'm still here."

"Hold on, I'm on my way. I'm in the car now."

Thankfully, Killian lived only ten minutes away. He pulled into Jefferson's extended driveway, tossing his cell phone onto the seat once he was parked. He jogged to the front door, finding it unlocked and cracked open.

"Jefferson?" Killian called softly, following the sound of muffled crying into the rather large kitchen. He found Jefferson sitting on the floor, his back against the cabinets with his knees pulled to his chest. To say Jefferson looked like hell was an understatement. It was obvious he'd been crying for hours, his eyes red and his entire face slightly swollen. Judging by the brown stain on Jefferson's t-shirt, he had thrown up at some point, if Killian wasn't mistaken.

"Is it ever going to stop?"

"I don't know. Eventually it gets easier, even after you lose the person you love the most," he muttered, crossing his arms briefly. He stared at Jefferson for a short moment before determining that he desperately needed a bath. So, Killian extended his hand. "You need a shower."

Jefferson allowed himself to be pulled up, leaving the empty whiskey bottle on the tile floor where it sat. Killian was fairly familiar with the large house and wound his way through to the bathroom in Jefferson's bedroom. He started a warm shower and Jefferson sought refuge leaning on the edge of the counter.

"What triggered this?" Killian dared to ask, glancing over at Jefferson (who was still crying silently).

"Nothing triggered it. It's always here. I'm always like this. Unless I'm fucking someone or asleep, I—I always…"

"Have you thought about seeking out help?"

Jefferson shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as be muttered, "I just want my daughter back."

Killian gave him a sympathetic sigh. "I know that, love. I wish I could help you. You don't know how badly I wish I could help."

Jefferson nodded meekly and uncrossed his arms long enough to pull his t-shirt off. He stood to his feet, clutching the wall for support as the room spun around him. He waited several seconds before he felt he could stand unassisted by the wall, and went about removing his black pants.

It was rather ridiculous, really, when Killian turned his back to Jefferson.

Jefferson stood upright, catching Killian standing with his back to him, and scowled. "It's nothing you've never paid for before," Jefferson spat.

"I'll just wait outside, then," Killian muttered as he stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He pulled the door mostly closed; leaving it cracked in the event that Jefferson needed something, and collapsed on the chair in the corner of the room. As he sat, he looked around the room wondering just how long Jefferson had been so depressed for. It was evident that he needed more help than Killian himself could ever provide, but that didn't mean that Jefferson would ever seek out that help. Killian would be eternally worried about him for sure.

Ten minutes later Killian was dozing off, his legs stretched out in front of him as the bathroom door opened. Jefferson emerged wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt and smelling a hell of a lot better than he did going into the shower.

"I'm out," Jefferson said quietly, nudging Killian's shoulder. He crossed the room and crawled into bed, glancing at Killian. "You can go home now. I—I think I'll be okay."

"I'll stay if you'd like," Killian murmured, rubbing his eyes as he pulled himself up. "I'm going to be honest, love; I'm not entirely comfortable leaving you by yourself after you said you'd rather be dead."

Jefferson nodded just a little.

The room was silent again, and Killian drifted to sleep from his position upright in the chair. Jefferson was beneath his blankets and it wasn't long until the madness consumed him again. He began to wonder why Grace had been ripped so viciously from him. He wondered if the amount of pain he felt was normal. And then the tears came, and they couldn't stop, and Jefferson's quiet sniffles turned into harsh sobs that, not surprisingly, jolted Killian awake.

"Jefferson?" he asked, sitting up. He saw the crumpled figure in the bed and stood with a sigh.

"What?"

Killian crossed the room in a few strides. "Are you alright?"

A quiet 'no' was all Jefferson could muster. Killian reached for a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand and offered it to him.

"Would you like me to lay with you?"

Jefferson nodded and scoot over, falling asleep only when he was securely wrapped in Killian's arms.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken so long to update. Life's been tough.

Jefferson woke long after the sun rose. He rolled over, startling slightly at the body in his bed. He pulled himself into a sitting position and remembered, just vaguely, that he had made a desperate phone call to Killian Jones (who was currently taking up residence in the empty side of Jefferson's bed). Jefferson remembered drinking a lot and his throbbing headache served as an unpleasant reminder of that.

He pulled himself out of bed, not bothering to slide into his slippers, and slowly made his way to the kitchen. It had been a solid week since he had cleaned anything in his house and the state of it reflected such; dishes cluttered the sink, the trash was overflowing and the empty whiskey bottle sat on the floor in front of the cabinets where he abandoned it the previous night. He decided that it definitely needed to be cleaned today but not before he made his cup of ginger tea. Ginger always worked wonders for these hangovers.

*

Three cups of tea later Jefferson felt slight relief from his headache. He sighed and glanced around him, deciding to start with the dishes; an empty sink always seemed to make the kitchen look cleaner.

He stood and methodically emptied the clean dishes into their appropriate cabinets, trying to keep his mind off the things that were quickly driving him insane. Being high helped, but it wasn't enough. Drinking never worked out well; Jefferson was a sad drunk. He was sad without the drinking and the drinking only made it worse.

Jefferson’s thoughts were interrupted as Killian appeared in the entrance to the kitchen. His hair was tousled from sleep and his right cheek sported pillow tracks beneath his beard. "Morning," he said simply.

Jefferson put the last dirty cup in the dishwasher and glanced over his shoulder. The way Killian looked at Jefferson nearly killed him. At the very least, it killed what little was left of his self-esteem. Jefferson knew how people in town looked at him and talked lowly of him; he didn't need Killian's pity to add to that laundry list of things that he hated.

"You can go," Jefferson replied. "You—you don't have to stay."

Killian wasn't sure if Jefferson was asking him to stay or just letting him know that he wasn't obligated to. He elected to ignore that statement either way and strode across the room to sit at the table. "You're up early for someone who had a night like yours."

"I have stuff to do," Jefferson shrugged, gesturing to the mess around them. He bent down to pick up the empty whiskey bottle by the neck. "You can go. I don't need you to babysit me."

Killian nodded silently but made no move to get up. "I think if it's alright with you, I'll stay a while longer."

*

Jefferson worked alone for a while until Killian decided to join him in the living room. He folded the various blankets that were tossed around the room, put magazines in a pile on the coffee table and offered to vacuum. Jefferson took him up on the offer and was grateful; it gave him a chance to run the mop over the kitchen floor.

After the two main rooms were clean, the only one left was Jefferson's bedroom. The other rooms in the house were never visited and were left untouched for the most part.

Jefferson wound his way back to his bedroom and Killian trailed after him. He flipped the light on and visibly cringed at the slight. Clothes were scattered around under a thin layer of garbage and empty coke baggies and condom wrappers littered the nightstand. Jefferson couldn't remember the last time his bedding had been washed. It was no wonder that he was dangerously depressed; no one could live in this state and not be.

They split up and worked on opposite sides of the room, meeting in the middle after an hour and a half. There was a mountain of laundry by the door and the bed had been stripped. The room looked twice as large when it was clean.

Killian tossed the last dirty shirt into the pile by the door and then turned to face Jefferson, who was sitting with his head in his hands in the armchair. "Have you eaten today?"

"I had tea," came Jefferson's mumbled response.

"That's not food. When was the last time you ate something?"

Jefferson shrugged; he honestly couldn't remember. "I'm fine.”

Killian sighed and shook his head. "We've been working all morning. Let me cook you something."

"I'm not hungry."

Killian exited the room, calling over his shoulder, "Too bad."

The contents of Jefferson's refrigerator and pantry left much to be desired and Killian wasn't exactly an experienced chef. He could make a decent pot of beef stew, though, and the ingredients were there so that's what he settled on.

Jefferson finished in the bedroom and decided to shower regardless of the fact he had done so the previous night. As the hot water ran over his skin, his tense muscles began to relax and the steam did good for his sinuses (which were overworked and swollen from the previous night's crying episode). He felt better once he stepped out of the bathroom and by then, the faint smell of beef stew wafted through the house and grew stronger by the time Jefferson made it into the kitchen.

"Smells good," he said softly, taking a seat at the breakfast table.

Killian hummed in reply, giving Jefferson half a smile. "Well, you don't exactly have an abundance of ingredients, but it'll do."

*

They ate in silence, the clinking of spoons against the bowls filling the void where small talk and conversation usually occurred. By the time they finished a light snow began to fall outside and Killian mentioned something about going to build a fire. Jefferson didn't protest; even with the heater going, the house was cold.

As Killian wandered into the living room to build the fire, Jefferson cleared the table of their dishes and stored the rest of the stew in the fridge. He was entirely unsure why Killian's presence wasn't bothering him as it usually did. That could partly be due to the episode last night, or the fact that someone was here and willing to keep him company. But why? Aside from the men who paid for Jefferson's services, no one had bothered with him before. He felt small in the house with Killian there. He felt stupid and fragile, and he hated it.

When the kitchen was clean again and the dishes were in the dishwasher, Jefferson walked into the living room where the fire was crackling. It was mid-afternoon by this point and the couch looked more inviting than ever. He pulled the throw blanket from the back of the couch and curled up underneath it.

Killian turned to face Jefferson and shifted on his feet. "You're settled?"

"Yeah," Jefferson murmured, clearing his throat and nodding. He watched silently as Killian retrieved his coat and keys. "Are you leaving?"

Killian nodded. "I have work in a couple hours. Will you be alright?"

"For now," Jefferson answered.

"Call me if you need anything. And for fuck's sake, don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," Jefferson said as Killian walked out the door. He added, softly, as an afterthought, "Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

The following days proved to be a challenge for Jefferson. He was restless and endlessly bored. He watching anything he could find on TV and drank cup after cup of tea. He was unproductive for the most part aside from folding the laundry he washed days prior. He ate the remaining beef stew Killian had cooked to put off going to the grocery store for as long as possible, but when he ran out of tea, he couldn't put it off any longer.

He set out to go early Monday morning, deciding that the morning posed little threat of running into anyone, and was out of the house by nine o'clock.

*  
  
When Jefferson turned down the coffee and tea aisle he decided that, without a doubt, he was probably the most unfortunate soul in the entire town. He attempted to back up before he was seen but his efforts were unsuccessful. Dr. Whale or, as Jefferson came to call him, Victor, turned to look at him.

"Jefferson!" he exclaimed. He grinned, all teeth, and Jefferson did his best to hold back a noise of disgust. Instead, he smiled demurely.

"Hi." Jefferson's tone was light but short enough to imply that he didn't want to be acknowledged further. He simply wanted to get the few groceries he absolutely had to have and get back to his house.

Victor wasn't a stupid man but regardless of his status as a doctor, his common sense and people skills were lacking. He dismissed Jefferson's tone and proceeded to approach him. "I haven't seen you around lately. Staying out of trouble?"

Jefferson blinked. Was he supposed to laugh? He wasn't sure if Whale was seriously asking him or if it was a pathetic attempt to start some sort of conversation. Jefferson thought for a short moment before casually shrugging one shoulder. "I've been busy."

It was a lie, and a horrible one that Victor saw straight through. He smiled again and Jefferson briefly thought about punching him. Jefferson was trying to avoid calling attention to himself, so he ultimately decided against it.

"Bullshit," Victor chuckled, still smiling. Jefferson's face remained blank as the doctor stepped toward him yet again. "You still working?"

Jefferson had to laugh at that because he was sure fucking men didn't constitute as working. "Not really, no," he said with a sigh.

"Well, I have to say I'm disappointed. You were always so much fun."

"Sorry?" Jefferson tried. He was sure he'd never been so fucking humiliated. "I have to go."

"Sure thing," Whale nodded. "Just remember: if you get desperate, you know where to find me."

Jefferson nodded as he shuffled toward the assorted teas on the opposite end of the aisle. By the time he turned around, Victor was long gone.  
  
*  
  
After Jefferson returned home, unloaded the groceries and put them away, he wandered upstairs. He never ventured up there for good reason; it's where Grace's room was. He tried his hardest to stay out of it because it only ever brought up awful memories. He would spend hours at a time sitting on the floor leaning against the wall. On his really bad nights, he'd fall asleep on the small twin sized bed.

He paused, his fingers on the doorknob to the room, and thought long and hard before dropping his hand. He was trying his damnedest to deal with things as they were. He was trying to adjust to the fact that he'd be without Grace for the unforeseeable future. She was practically dead to him, and going into the room with pastel walls and lace curtains would only open up old wounds. Instead, Jefferson opted to curl up in his own bed and stare at the wall.

He thought of Killian and the things Whale said to him in the store. Whale had been a regular customer of Jefferson's for a while. He'd given Jefferson pills as payment for sex, and usually they'd do them together. Jefferson had very few actual memories of them together. In all honesty, he didn't have a lot of memories of himself with any of the men he slept with. It was for the best, really; no one would want to remember themselves like that.  
  
*  
  
Jefferson gave in to sleep for a while before a loud banging on the front door woke him up. He startled easily, his heart racing as he clambered to his feet. He descended the stairs quickly, flipping the porch light on sighing when he saw Killian's silhouette through the window. He yanked the door open. "What the hell are you doing?"

Killian looked up, his worried expression fading immediately. "You wouldn't answer your phone," he explained.

"Because I was sleeping!"

Killian shrunk slightly with embarrassment, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm sorry. I was concerned and I thought maybe you'd—"

Jefferson's face softened. "You thought I'd what?"

"Gone and done something stupid. How was I supposed to know you were sleeping?"

With his track record, Jefferson couldn't really argue with that assumption. "Well, I'm fine, so..." He trailed off, noting the bags under Killian's eyes. "Rough day?"

"Rough weekend," Killian responded heavily. In his hand he held a bottle of liquor in a brown paper bag and he lifted it for Jefferson to see. "Up for some fun?" he joked halfheartedly.

"You and I both know that's not a good idea. You've seen me drunk."

"It's rum. Everybody's happy when they've got rum."

Jefferson thought for a moment before stepping back and allowing him inside. "You're a bad influence, Killian Jones."  
  
*  
  
In part, Killian was right; rum made Jefferson happier. He actually laughed and loosened up—enough to let Killian kiss him. It was wrong, and Killian knew that. He had a much better tolerance for alcohol than Jefferson did. In thirty minutes, Jefferson was handsy, giddy, and moved to straddle Killian's lap.

"What are you doing?" Killian laughed and turned his head away, knocking back a rather large drink from the bottle.

"Come on," Jefferson muttered, his fingers clumsily attempting to undo the buttons on Killian's shirt. "You wanna fuck me?"

Killian laughed again as he reached to hold Jefferson's hand still. "What?"

"Fuck me," Jefferson repeated. He pulled his hand free from Killian's grip and slid it between their bodies, cupping Killian through his pants.

Killian briefly contemplated allowing Jefferson to go further, but he didn't. It felt wrong, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth when he tried to speak. Instead, he pushed Jefferson from his lap and stood up.

"Come on," Jefferson whined, reaching out and grabbing the hem of Killian's shirt. "You don't even have to pay me!"

Killian pushed him away gently and snatched the bottle of rum from the table. All he wanted was to unwind after a few tough days, and Jefferson was only making it worse. That's when Killian decided, undoubtedly, that he would never allow Jefferson to get drunk again. He should have known better but he didn't. Lesson learned.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," Killian answered. "This was a bad idea."

"I'm having fun!"

"You're drunk, love."

"I'm not drunk," Jefferson protested, sitting up. "I'm tipsy at best." He went quiet, interlacing his fingers and putting his hands in his lap. "Stay," he pleaded.

Killian hesitated and resisted the urge to turn and look at him. Instead, he walked into the kitchen to dump the rest of the rum down the sink. He left the bottle there, coming back to the couch where Jefferson was sitting. He sat down on one end of it, not protesting when Jefferson laid down and put his head in Killian's lap.

"You're a lousy drunk," Killian stated.

Jefferson turned slightly so he was on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "You're a bad influence."

"You've already made that argument once today."

Silence settled over them and he rested his head against the back of the sofa. He was nearly asleep the next time Jefferson spoke.

"I don't think I'll ever have Grace again," he muttered.

Killian looked down at Jefferson to see his eyes were teary. He wasn't sure of what to say because nothing was certain, and no words could possibly soothe the hurt that encompassed Jefferson. Killian simply decided not to say anything but instead threaded his fingers through Jefferson's hair and soothed him to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

One good deed turned into several and despite Jefferson's halfhearted protests, Killian stayed over to keep an eye on Jefferson. He never minded it; his own place wasn't nearly as comfortable. Having drifted to sleep on the couch the previous night, Killian woke to the smell of pancakes wafting in from the kitchen. He pushed himself off the sofa and wandered into the kitchen to investigate, clearing his throat politely so as not to startle Jefferson.

Jefferson—still in his pajamas and not having even combed his fingers through his hair—glanced over his shoulder. He halfway smiled before flipping the current pancake he was cooking. "Good, you're up. I made you—there's, um, there's coffee if you want," he sputtered, gesturing to the coffee pot across the counter. Jefferson always preferred tea over coffee and Killian recognized the gesture as being purely for himself.

Killian moved to grab a mug from the appropriate cabinet and proceeded to fill it with coffee—black, no sugar. "Thank you," he replied. He observed Jefferson and admired his awkward movements. It had been so long since Jefferson actually attempted to cook something in the kitchen that wasn't a cup of tea that he lost track of what utensil were in which cabinets.

Killian took a sip of coffee before asking, "Did you sleep alright?"

Jefferson nodded and moved the last pancake to the plate to join the others. "Why?"

Killian swallowed down a rather large gulp of coffee. "You look well-rested is all," he replied innocently. He muttered a 'thank you' after Jefferson slid the plate of pancakes onto the table, along with the syrup, a napkin and a fork.

They ate in relative silence, Jefferson mostly picking at his plate as Killian ate with determination. As he finished, he wiped his mouth with the napkin Jefferson provided and pushed his plate away. "I've taken the day off," he announced. "I can go back home or stay here. It's your choice."

Jefferson paused, his syrup-saturated pancake dangling from the prongs of his fork. Why would Killian tell him this? Why would he volunteer the information?

"It's your choice," Jefferson retorted with feign nonchalance. "I'm sure you've gotten sick of me by now. I couldn't stand to be around me for this long. It's always your choice to stay. You know that, right? I don't—I've never asked you to stay with me, so."

The pirate chuckled, "Calm down, love. I don't do things that I don't want to do. If I'm here, it's because I want to be, but by all means, if you want me to go, say the word and I'll leave."

"I never said that," Jefferson answered shakily. He dropped his fork and pushed his plate to the side, burying his face in his hands. He stayed like that for several minutes before Killian reached over to him, resting a hand on his arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," the hatter murmured, dropping his hands. He gathered their dishes and crossed the kitchen to wash them, his backside to Killian as he did so. He hadn't even eaten half of the breakfast he'd made for himself.

Killian's gaze followed Jefferson before he could stop himself. Once he realized he was staring, he abruptly looked away. After long pause in conversation he spoke up. "You know there's that festival going on today if you'd like to get out of the house. It might do you some good."

Jefferson shook his head adamantly. "No, I couldn't—no. That's not a good idea."

"Why not?" Killian inquired.

"People will talk," he explained quietly. "I can't handle that."

"Look, there's no telling how long we'll be stuck here like this. The best thing you can do for yourself is learn to cope. You're not going to get better if you seclude yourself from everything."

"I didn't know you were a mental health expert," Jefferson snapped as he loaded the dish washer.

"It's something new I'm trying out," Killian quipped.

"I don't want to go," Jefferson said, softer this time. "I want to stay home. If you were me, you'd do the same."

After a few minute moments of silence, Killian stood up and exited the room. He returned a short while later as Jefferson started the dishwasher. "Well, I'm going," he announced, heading to the door. "You're welcome to come with me if you'd like."

"Wait," Jefferson sighed heavily. "Let me get dressed."

*  
  
They spent the morning wandering around the festival, observing the rides and the games and the candle booths. Jefferson lingered behind Killian slightly as they walked and pretended not to see the looks they received. They were a pair, for sure; the lonesome fisherman and his junkie whore. After a while, Jefferson suggested they go take a break. They sat across from each other in the booth in the corner. Granny's was brisk with business attributed to the festival, but far less crowded than the streets outside. They sat quietly, Jefferson nursing a cup of hot tea and a piece of cobbler that he'd lost interest in. Killian sat quietly, hands on the table as he watched Jefferson eat.

Jefferson looked at anything other than Killian's face; at the bar, at the walls, at his plate, and then out the window. He watched for almost a solid minute, calm and quiet, until he saw Paige—Grace—with a group of her school friends walk past the window. His sights were set and his eyes couldn't be torn away. When they entered the shop, the bell on the door rang with the motion, and before he could stop himself, Jefferson moved to the edge of the booth and called, "Grace!"

The girl looked up at him with a face mirroring only confusion. She blinked once before turning back to her group of friends.

Killian tensed, reaching across the table. "Jefferson."

Still, Jefferson stared, until he realized that other people were staring back at him. "We need—I need to leave," he responded quietly.

The pirate nodded and, after digging a 10 dollar bill out of his pocket, stood and allowed Jefferson to walk ahead of him. Once they were outside, Killian guided Jefferson to a less populated area. "Are you alright?" he murmured, concerned.

"She looked right at me," Jefferson whispered. His voice cracked as he spoke. "She looked right at me and she didn't even know me." He attempted to blink away the tears that pooled in his eyes but they quickly slipped down his cheeks. He wiped his eyes with the back of his slightly trembling hand. "I want to go home."

"Alright." Killian nodded meekly, reaching out for Jefferson's hand.

*

As soon as Jefferson made it to his bedroom, he shed his clothes. He heard Killian tossing logs into the fireplace downstairs and changed into sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His eyes were still wet with tears but he didn't bother to wipe them now that he was in the comfort of his own home. He tried not to think about what had happened, about how Grace looked right at him with no emotion or reaction whatsoever. That hurt more than not having her.

After a good ten minutes, Jefferson trudged downstairs, self-hatred and thoughts about going to Gold raging through his mind. He saw Killian seated in front of the freshly built fire and decided to sit beside him. Their knees touched when Jefferson sat, and Killian looked over at him with an unreadable expression. "I'm sorry," he began quietly. "I shouldn't have persuaded you to go. Is Grace the real reason you wanted to stay home?"

Jefferson nodded. "She didn't even recognize me," he whispered. He stared into the fire, not blinking, not moving, and Killian felt ultimately guilty for what Jefferson had experienced. If he hadn't persuaded Jefferson, manipulated him, it wouldn't have happened. Had they both stayed at the house, things would be better, and Jefferson wouldn't be falling to pieces yet again.

"Come here," Killian whispered, outstretching an arm in invitation. Jefferson shifted and made himself comfortable, extending his legs on the couch and leaning comfortably against the pirate. Killian sighed, his fingers reaching up to brush the exposed scar on Jefferson's neck as he did so. They sat, not speaking, and not knowing, but breathing slowly in sync as the fire crackled before them.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the same thing almost every morning: Jefferson waking before Killian and stumbling into the kitchen to make him coffee, make himself tea, and cook breakfast for the both of them. They had the same conversation every day as well, and today was no different.

"You don't have to—"

"Let me guess," Killian broke in, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I don't have to stay with you almost every night."

"It's just that—"

"Listen, love," he cut in once more. "You feed me and you let me sleep in the guest bedroom. So far you're doing better than every woman I've ever met." He added softly, glancing over at Jefferson, "If I didn't like you, I wouldn't be here."

Jefferson laughed a little. It sounded forced, but he ignored that. "I don’t know how hanging out with me could possibly be fun at all."

"Didn't say fun," Killian joked. He got up to put his breakfast dishes in the sink and then cleared his throat. "Do you need anything from town?" he asked, hoping to change the subject. "I'm going to head to my place for a bit. I think I'm just about out of clean clothes."

The hatter shook his head. "No, I'm okay. I have enough of everything." He paused momentarily before asking, "You're out of clean clothes?"

"Between here and there I've just been throwing on whatever doesn't smell like sweat and sea water."

"If—if you want, I could, um, I could wash them for you. I mean, you keep me company and you've helped me more times than I can count, so... so." Jefferson licked his lips as a sudden burning feeling spread from his cheeks to his ears. He tried to ignore his slightly elevated heartbeat.

"I don't expect you to."

"I'm offering," Jefferson said. "I'd be glad to."

"Well, in that case I'll stop by after work and pick them up."

*

Late in the evening, Jefferson started on the somewhat large pile of Killian's dirty laundry as the pirate sat at the bar picking at the dinner Jefferson made. His eyes wandered to the pile of mail on the counter and he glanced over his shoulder before thumbing through it. One envelope stuck out more than the rest. It was yellow and had been opened already. Killian quickly pulled out the content—a birthday card from Ruby—and quickly put it back.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday," Killian stated.

"You didn't tell me you were going through my mail," Jefferson retorted, not missing a beat.

"It was right here on the counter. I was simply looking around."

"Bullshit." The hatter returned from the laundry room which was directly next to the kitchen and snatched the pile of mail. "It's not my birthday," he clarified. "It's tomorrow."

"Well, that calls for a celebration. What do you want to do?"

"Nothing," Jefferson whispered, glancing down. "It doesn't matter. I don't matter."

"Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself."

He didn’t want to deal with this at all. It was easier just to ignore it. "Well, I started your laundry and I'm feeling particularly exhausted, so I think I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

Killian nodded, glancing over his shoulder to watch Jefferson go. "Goodnight," he called softly.

*

The following morning, Jefferson woke to the smell of something burning. He jumped out of bed, descending the stairs in his current state of undress, and stopping abruptly when he saw Killian fanning a pan over the stove.

"What the hell?" Jefferson snapped breathlessly. "What are you doing?"

Caught in the act, Killian turned around and smiled somewhat innocently. Upon seeing Jefferson in only a pair of tight black briefs, he immediately looked away. "I was making breakfast," he said, clearing his throat.

Jefferson marched over, examining the blackened bacon in the skillet, and sighed. "I would have cooked."

"Maybe I wanted to cook for a change." Killian glanced over at Jefferson in his state of undress. He was obviously flustered, which he deemed stupid because Killian had seen him naked before. "Go get dressed and we can go out for breakfast."

"I don't want to go."

Killian crossed his arms purposefully, raising an eyebrow. "It wasn't a question. Go get dressed.”

Jefferson turned and headed up to his room, fighting back the smile that threatened to pull at his lips.

*

Granny's diner was busy with those preparing for work and school. No one paid much attention to the men in the corner. Even Ruby was too busy bustling between the kitchen and tables to pay them much attention. Killian ordered an omelet and Jefferson stuck with the traditional breakfast platter of eggs, bacon and French toast. He rarely ate out at all and doing so for breakfast was a nice change. The best part was not having to clean up the kitchen afterward.

Throughout the meal, Killian tried to engage Jefferson in conversation. Jefferson wouldn’t have it; his responses were minimal and Killian’s attempts were short-lived.

When they were done, Killian left payment along with the tip before standing up to leave. He offered a hand to Jefferson, helping him scoot out of the booth. Once outside, they walked down the street to Killian’s car and got in. Before even turning it on, he turned to Jefferson and asked, “What else would you like to do?”

Jefferson turned to him, somewhat dumbfounded, and looked at him wide-eyed. “What?”

“It's your birthday, after all. How would you like to spend it?”

“That’s what this is about? The attempt to burn my house down cooking and then taking me out for breakfast?”

Killian murmured a noncommittal answer and his companion slumped in his seat.

“I don’t need your pity,” Jefferson said quietly.

“It’s not pity,” Killian said, even softer.

“Then what is it?”

The pirate paused for a moment before reaching to turn the car on. “A waste of time, apparently, because you seem to think that you’re a worthless human being. So if you want to spend your birthday sulking alone in your mansion, be my guest. I'll drive you home."

*

The drive back to the house was completely silent. Jefferson stared at the window for the most part. He thought about what Killian said and although he didn't think he deserved the time of day Killian gave him, it made sense.

They pulled into the driveway eventually and Killian put the car into park, sitting patiently with his hands in his lap as he waited for Jefferson to get out.

"Look—" Jefferson began.

"I've actually gotta go, sorry. Enjoy your birthday."

Jefferson got the hint and climbed out of the car, nodding. "Thank you for breakfast," he said quietly, watching Killian's attempt to remain neutral. To save himself embarrassment, he said nothing and backed out of the drive as soon as Jefferson stepped away.


	9. Chapter 9

Jefferson spent the remainder of his birthday on the couch in sweatpants, drinking cup after cup of hot tea in front of the television. He paid little attention to the programs, dozing off between them. He woke to the painfully quiet house, wishing things after breakfast this morning had gone differently. He wasn't surprised things had gone the way they did; he knew Killian would get fed up soon enough. Everyone did. Jefferson hated himself for it, but it was a default setting; push away anyone who could possibly hurt him or be hurt by him in the future.

Jefferson didn’t exactly have a monumental amount of people to fill the void in his life, but Killian was willing to offer Jefferson company and companionship and Jefferson was blatantly ungrateful in return. He figured it’d be better this way. He knew he’d eventually say or do something to push Killian away, and there’s no telling what Killian was actually capable of.

Eventually during the early evening, Jefferson pulled himself to his bedroom. He contemplated going up to the second floor of the house, even paused at the foot of the stairs, but then decided against it. The day had already brought enough heartache as it was.

*

"Papa?"

Jefferson woke with a start, eyes wide and unfocused on his dark bedroom. Heart racing, trembling, forehead damp with sweat, he stood. He was on the verge of calling out for Grace when he glanced down at his modern-day pajama pants and t-shirt, remembering. He glanced at the clock that read it was merely nine o'clock in the evening; he had only been asleep for three hours.

Darkness consumed him. The heavy weight on his heart made it difficult to breathe. Nothing could calm this anxiety; he'd experienced it before. He needed someone, but no one was there this time; he had pushed Killian away and was left with no one to comfort or console him. He needed a fix.

Jefferson crossed the room to his dresser, digging around in the top drawer before he found what he was looking for: a business card for Dr. Whale. He crawled back into bed, running a hand over his face before he called the number. He sat, lip between his teeth as he listened to the rings. He was sure he was going to leave a message, until he hears someone pick up. And then there was a laugh.

"Jefferson," Whale answered. "I didn't expect to be hearing from you so soon."

"Me either," Jefferson replied.

*

When Jefferson got to Whale's house, he immediately felt cold and even more alone than he had in his bedroom. The place was nice--not as nice as his own--but it was decent. Jefferson sat in the living room waiting for the doctor to finish whatever the hell he was doing on the computer. He was still in his white coat and work clothes despite getting off work earlier in the evening, and it was nearly midnight at this point.

"Go shower," Whale said after a while. "I'm nearly finished. Don't bother getting dressed, just wait for me in the bedroom."

Jefferson nodded, doing as he was told to.

He waited in the bedroom for five minutes after getting out of the shower. The room wasn't particularly cold, but still he shivered. He tried not to think about anything--the impending sex, the way he very clearly hurt Killian, what Grace would think if she knew he were doing this to himself. Instead, he only told himself that it would be an hour, two tops, and then he could have a high a soon as he could reach Gold. The old familiar craving of an escape made everything worth it.

Just then, Whale walked in and interrupted Jefferson's thoughts. He said nothing until he had stripped to his underwear and then motioned to Jefferson. "On your knees."

Jefferson's eyes went to the tent in Whale's boxers as he slid to the floor.

*

He hated this; he hated it. Whale was never gentle and always mocking. Being on his stomach was easy, though; it allowed Jefferson to cry silently without being noticed. He felt no pleasure from any of it; he wasn't expected to. His job was to satisfy his customer's needs and right now, those needs included rough, deep-dick fucking.

Jefferson felt Whale's cheek press against his shoulder. The thrusts lost their rhythm as the doctor picked up pace. Moments later he was grunting, and Jefferson breathed a deep sigh of relief. He waited for the man to pull out and remove the condom before he turned to sit up. He watched Whale retrieve his wallet and count out the payment. He handed it over to Jefferson, looking down at him curiously.

"Your fisherman friend isn't around to take care of you or what?"

Jefferson tried to act surprised by that. "What?"

"Don't be stupid; the girls in the diner talk about you all the time.

Jefferson's eyes remained fixated on the money in his hand. He shrugged nonchalantly. "I needed the money," he stated. He gathered his clothes from the bathroom, shoving the wad of bills into his coat pocket.

"Will I see you again soon?" the doctor asked, his tone dripping with mockery.

Jefferson looked at him one last time. "Depends on how desperate you get, doesn't it?"

Whale laughed, sharp and feigned. "Fuck you."

"But you already have!" the hatter retorted sarcastically.

"Get out of my house, Jefferson."

"I'm already gone," he snapped, walking out of the bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

The following morning, Jefferson left home early enough to ensure that he would arrive at Gold's antique shop shortly after it opened. He was dressed down in sweat pants, a scarf, and a fleece jacket; he had only planned to go to Gold's shop, so there was no need to wear anything nicer.

The drive seemed to take twice as long as usual, and the fog didn't help anything. Jefferson pulled up parallel to the curb and slid out of the car easily.

Seventeen steps and he was in the stop. Two minutes and he had what he came for. He set back toward home, the small bag not leaving his hand during the entire drive.  
  
*  
  
He admired it for a moment, so pretty and soft against the mirrored surface of his dresser, cut into four lines of pure bliss. His fingers trembled with anticipation; euphoria was only moments away. The depression would fade for now and return with a vengeance as his high faded, but for now, Jefferson could enjoy himself.

He snorted the first line and he laughed. And he laughed and laughed and laughed.  
  
*  
  
When Jefferson woke to a deafening silence, he was sure to be dreaming. He sat up—briefly wondering why his face was level with the armchair in his living room—and soon realized he was on the floor. He laughed at his own expense and pulled himself upright. He was sore, bones cracking and popping as he stood to his feet and ventured into the kitchen for a cup of tea.

The silence was short-lived as Jefferson’s cell phone rang. He contemplated not getting up to answer it, but figured he should. After all, it could be an inquiring client. His heart jumped at the number that flashed on the screen. It wasn’t Whale, or any other inquiring client; it was the goddamn pirate. Jefferson sighed, his finger hovering over the screen before he answered. “Hello?”

“Jefferson,” Killian responded formally. “I’ve been calling since last night.”

“Oh, I was—”

“I don’t care, frankly. I just need my clothes back.”

Jefferson’s eyes drifted to the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen. “Oh, I—I’m sorry, I completely forgot,” he said in all honesty. “They’re clean, I just—do you want to come get them?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can drop them off at my place. I’ll text you the address, yeah?”

Jefferson nodded as if Killian could see him. “Yeah, I’ll just—I'll bring them over today."

"Thank you."

Jefferson stood from the table with a shaky breath. Surely Killian wouldn't be that dismissive, would he? He had attempted time and time again to engage Jefferson, and Jefferson never wanted to, but now that he was alone again, with nothing or anyone to occupy his time or thoughts, he just might be ready to do so.

Jefferson stood up from his table and walked over to the laundry room. He unwrinkled Killian's clothes through two cycles in the dryer, and then folded them meticulously. Surely that would make up for his rudeness. Probably not.  
  
*  
  
Jefferson felt foolish as he walked down the dock to Killian’s houseboat. He caught stares and looks from the other residents there. He looked ridiculously, surely, walking through the harbor with a clothes basket balanced on his hip. He paused with a deep breath before approaching the small houseboat. He didn’t want to knock, just wanted to leave the basket there, but he was down on his luck because Killian was waiting.

His arms outstretched, he wouldn’t even look at Jefferson. Once the basket was in his grasp, Jefferson licked his lips in anticipation of saying something, anything, in response to what he hoped Killian would say. He said nothing, turned to go inside, and that’s when Jefferson figured he would have to be the one to speak up if he wanted to salvage anything of their friendship—or whatever this was.

“I’m sorry,” Jefferson said clearly, firmly. Sincerity need not be faked; Jefferson meant it. He was sorry for being rude, dismissive, for shutting out the only person who ever bothered with him.

“Right,” Killian answered, nodding. “Are we done?”

“Killian, I’m sorry.” It came out as a whisper the second time, and the expression he gave could be the textbook definition of a puppy dog face. It was wholly involuntary, but it would prove to help his case.

With a sigh, the pirate finally looked up at Jefferson. “Would you like to come in?” he asked. It wasn’t entirely polite, but Jefferson obliged with a nod and followed him into the surprisingly clean little houseboat. He was impressed with the state of the place—bare bones, but decent and well-kept. Killian obviously took pride in what was his.

“I’m sorry,” Jefferson repeated. It was louder this time, and sounded more like a plea than anything else. “I was rude and dismissive. I’m sorry. I do—I do appreciate your company. You’re the only person that’s ever bothered with me.”

“For good reason,” Killian retorted, straight-faced at first, before the corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. Jefferson’s heart fluttered at the sight—or maybe it was his stomach growling with hunger; he wasn’t sure.

Killian left with his laundry, returning moments later with the empty basket. He set it on the floor and looked at Jefferson expectantly. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I haven’t. Do you want to go grab something?”

“No, you’re going to make it up to me by cooking breakfast.”

Jefferson hesitated, licking his lips and clearing his throat. “Um, I can’t really cook.”

”Nonsense,” the pirate retorted, taking a seat at the small booth and table along the far side of the room. “You can cook a better omelette than that old wench at the diner. I’m sure of it.”

At that, Jefferson actually laughed. “Alright,” he retorted, a small smile at his lips. He shrugged his coat off his shoulders and unwound the scarf from his neck. Back to Killian and scar exposed, he scoured the kitchen for all of the necessary ingredients.  
  
*  
  
"I told you," Killian said upon first bite.

Fork in hand, Jefferson took a bite of his own omelette and shrugged a shoulder. "It's okay."

"Oh, you're being ridiculous. Why is it so hard for you to agree with me?"

"Because you're hard to get along with," Jefferson answered. He knew it was bullshit, but part of him enjoyed getting under Killian's skin. It wasn't hard to do it, either.

"Could it be that your incessant self-pity has something to do with it?" Killian fired back. He stayed straight-faced for a moment, breaking into a smile when he was sure Jefferson was ready to protest. He extended his hand across the table, lightly brushing his fingertips over the back of Jefferson's hand. "I'm kidding, love."  
  
*  
  
After breakfast, Jefferson cleared the table and ran a sink of warm, soapy water for the dishes. Killian watched his movement, clumsy and unsure, but there was something so organic about it all. He didn't try to impress, didn't try and mask his displeasure for the task. It was hard for Killian to watch, though, because it hurt; everything about Jefferson hurt him. Jefferson was so beautiful—painfully so. Long legs, pale skin, dark lashes. bright eyes; Killian was transfixed by him. He'd felt it before, but never this strongly. Jefferson was standing in his home wearing sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt, scarred neck uncovered, sadness encompassing his features, but he was still so beautiful. His beauty, his pain, his lack of self-worth—he was an absolute mess. He was absolutely stunning. But he hated himself, and those people are the hardest to love.


	11. Chapter 11

They both knew better, but that didn't stop Killian from crossing the kitchen and kissing Jefferson shortly after breakfast. Jefferson thought it'd help him forget about Grace, thought it'd help loosen him up, and it did... even past the extent of which Jefferson had hoped. Killian didn't even try to justify it. If he had, things probably wouldn't have progressed so quickly.

Jefferson's fingers were wet and soapy from dishwasher, knotted in Killian's hair and tugging at the roots as stubble scratched at the smooth line of his own jaw. A moan slipped from his lips and didn't care, didn't even give it a second thought. His free hand grasped the loose fabric of Killian's Henley in attempt to pull him closer.

Killian broke away seconds later, lips wet and glistening in the poor florescent lighting. Jefferson felt the length of Killian's cock hard and eager against his own hip.

"How far are you wanting this to go, love?" he asked, brow raised and hopes high.

Jefferson froze momentarily before releasing the now-wrinkled fabric from his left hand. He was unsure of what Killian had meant, and even though it probably didn't need saying, Jefferson said it anyway: "I don't expect payment if that's what you're asking."

"That's not—I didn't mean that at all." Killian reached up, swiping a hand over the back of his mouth. "I just don't want to be held responsible for you deciding to do something that you didn't want to do."

"You're asking if this is consensual?"

Killian nodded. "Yes."

"Yes," Jefferson clarified. "It's consensual." Their gazes met once more and then Jefferson sighed. "Well now you've ruined the mood."

Killian's lips curled into a devious smirk. "I think I can remedy that." He leaned forward, capturing Jefferson's mouth with his own as his arms rest on either side of the counter, trapping Jefferson between them. Jefferson sighed at the contact, all but leaning into the man in front of him. He felt warm and full and briefly wondered if this was what it felt like to be loved.

Jefferson's fingers crept under the hem of Killian's gray Henley, ghosting across his skin until he felt he had been kissed sufficiently enough to pull away. He grabbed the garment by the hem and tugged it over Killian's head.

Their experience together was beneficial to Killian; he knew Jefferson's downfalls and favorite places to be touched. They had never spoken about it. Killian had found out by trial and error, paying close attention to the way touches to the small of Jefferson's back made his eyelashes flutter. Just below his ear was the most sensitive. The scar on his neck left the skin there feeling virtually numb, and that didn't make for good kissing.

Now shirtless, Killian decided that he'd much rather unravel Jefferson in the comfort of his bedroom. He took a step back and motioned to him with his hand. It was nonchalant and it made Jefferson hesitate. Killian had done this before, surely. As Jefferson eventually trailed after him, he wondered if this time would be any different. But then he realized he didn't really care.

*

Jefferson fell back and landed on the bed moments before Killian pushed inside him. It felt different, strange and slightly uncomfortable, because in this position Jefferson felt vulnerable. Heat blossomed inside him as Killian began to thrust, but he soon put a hand Killian's shoulder. "Let me turn over." He pushed Killian away and flipped onto his stomach, reaching out for a pillow and dragging it under his head.

"Better?" Killian asked as he straddled Jefferson once more, fingertips brushing against the small of his back.

"Yeah."

He breached Jefferson again, drawing a whine from his lips as he did so. His hips pushed back against Killian in a move of encouragement, and he was soon rewarded with faster, harder thrusts. Lips pressed against his shoulder and then teeth as short fingernails dug into the pale skin of Jefferson's hip.

Killian pounded harder, the weight on Jefferson's back acting as the perfect friction for his cock against the mattress. He felt Killian's mouth at the back of his neck, panting as the stubble on his jaw scraped across his shoulder and he came quickly, untouched, against the dingy white sheets beneath him. With several rigid thrusts, Killian spilled into him with a guttural moan. He pulled out some moments later, flopping over onto his back.

Jefferson closed his eyes not out of contentment but out of shame, guilt, regret—whatever it was. He instantly felt nauseated and hoped Killian wouldn't speak because he was sure he'd lose his breakfast if he did. He pushed himself up slowly, legs curling underneath his body as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He'd hoped that sitting up would help, but it didn't. It only made it worse.

"Where's, uh—bathroom?" Jefferson asked quietly, not bothering to turn around.

"Just outside the door to your left," Killian responded.

Jefferson nodded but moved quickly, fearing that he wouldn't make it to the toilet in time. He fell to his knees, heaving into the white bowl beneath him.

Upon hearing Jefferson's retching, Killian quickly slipped his pants on and stepped over to the bathroom. "Are you alright?"

Jefferson shook his head, heaving into the toilet once more. He remained there several minutes to assure he was finished, and then stood up slowly. Presumably, Killian left at some point and returned, because he offered Jefferson a glass of water which he used to rinse his mouth.

"Thanks," he muttered. "I don't know what happened. I just felt sick all the sudden."

The pirate hummed and went back to the small bedroom, flopping down on the poor excuse for a mattress. Jefferson followed shortly after, locating his boxer briefs and slipping them on. Against his better judgment, he decided to stay. He felt dizzy and was certain he shouldn't be driving. The room seemed to spin, although the bed remained at the corner of the room.

Jefferson cleared his throat. "Mind if I stay?"

"Not at all."

With a nod he joined Killian on the mattress, back to his chest. It wasn't until Jefferson was nearly asleep that he felt a hand on his hip.


	12. Chapter 12

When Jefferson woke he was stiff and sore and felt lightheaded. He shuffled around in the blanket for his cell phone which read that it was shortly after 1 o'clock in the afternoon. When he crawled out of bed, the blanket fell from his hips and left him naked and feeling exposed. He searched for his clothes that were sprawled on the floor and tugged them on.

In the kitchen there was a note from Killian stating he had gone to work and would return sometime later that evening. He’d wished Jefferson a restful slumber and signed his name.

The houseboat was eerily quiet, intermittently breaking the silence with creeks and groans as it shifted in the water. The only entertainment Killian’s home had to offer was a TV that only received local channels. Jefferson switched it on with a sigh and flopped on the small sofa whose comfort level left much to be desired. He stared at the television but didn’t absorb any of the morning news that lulled in the background of his thoughts.

Jefferson felt less lonely on the boat because there was significantly less empty space. The quarters were close but cozy, perfect for two people. He had been playing house with Killian long enough for it to become routine. He didn’t really know what they considered themselves to be. Friends would be a slight understatement and lovers would be overstating things. They were simply two lost souls who stumbled across and resented each other in the beginning, snarling and quipping back and forth during exchanges of sex for money. They now seemed to be comfortable with each other and casual sex was a somewhat frequent occurrence, but that’s where Jefferson drew the line. He wouldn’t fall in love with Killian Jones. He wouldn’t.

Just then Jefferson’s phone beeped with a message from Dr. Whale. Jefferson agreed to meet him at the motel in an hour.

*

Killian returned from work to an empty house and a note on the bed saying that Jefferson had gone home for the evening but that Killian was welcome to join him. So, Killian showered and grabbed the necessities for an overnight stay.

*

"It's open!" Jefferson hollered following a knock on the kitchen door. He smiled briefly as Killian entered before returning his attention to the pot of chili he was nursing on the stove.

"Hi," Killian said, setting his things down on the breakfast table and shaking off the outside chill. He shed his coat and slipped into one of the chairs.

"Hi. How was work?" Jefferson shuddered at their exchange. If he didn't know better he'd say that were married. Or at the very least dating.

"Work was work. I'm surprised to see you cooking. What's the special occasion?" He fought to retain a teasing chuckle but a smirk appeared on his lips, eyes glinting even in the awful florescent lighting.

"The special occasion is that you decided join me for dinner," Jefferson retorted. He wasn't sure if they were actually flirting seriously or ironically but he figured it didn't matter much. He decided to tone it down a bit and the smile faded from his face.

The pirate shifted in his chair and rested with his head on his propped elbow. "What've you been up to today?"

Jefferson's mind briefly went to Dr. Whale. Of course he couldn't let on about where he'd gone and what he'd done because Killian would no doubt leave and refuse to see him again. There was no way he'd risk that. Instead he shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. "Nothing, really."

"You ought to pick up a hobby of some sort. I'm sure it'd help pass the time."

Jefferson gasped in mock excitement. "I could pick up hat making! I've heard that's good for the nerves."

"Oh come on. There are plenty of other hobbies to choose from. Even walking could help."

"Oh yes because walking alone in the woods isn't dangerous or silly at all. All normal people do it."

"Jefferson..."

He shook his head. "Don't 'Jefferson' me. I don't need a hobby." He shifted his weight on his feet, hanging his head briefly before saying, "I just need Grace." He heard Killian sigh sympathetically and felt the tears that threatened to make an appearance. It'd been a good few days since he'd seen them and he hoped to keep it that way. Killian sensed what was coming and cleared his throat.

"How about we go get dessert after we ate that delicious smelling dinner you're cooking?"

"It's just chili," Jefferson said with a glance back at him. "And it's done."

"Let’s eat and then I'll take you out for dessert. My treat."

Jefferson turned the stove off and leaned against the counter. "Something tells me you aren't going to take no for an answer."

Killian grinned in return and Jefferson grumbled an agreement under his breath.

*

After a successful trip to the ice cream shop Jefferson and Killian were settled in Killian's truck, Jefferson in the passenger's seat and Killian driving. They'd driven down to the water and sat with the heat on low as they ate their dessert. Killian stuck with chocolate with sprinkles and Jefferson chose cookies and cream with an assortment of toppings Killian couldn't remember if he tried. He thought it funny almost. Jefferson's ice cream order was nearly as complex as he was.

They didn't speak for several minutes. The hum of the idling car and the heater filled the air with white noise and the silence was comfortable. Killian had been deep in thought and moved to break that silence only when he had consumed his ice cream cone.

"Jefferson?"

"Hm?"

Killian shifted in his seat nervous and unsure if what he was about to say would set Jefferson off. He wasn't up for a fight or Jefferson's dramatics. He just wanted to be honest. He wanted to lay everything on the line. "I don't know what we are. I don't know your feelings but I care about you. I really do."

"Why? I'm nothing special," Jefferson retorted.

"Don't! Don't you dare downplay this. I'm being honest with you and I'd appreciate it if for you could hold in your witty little remarks and just listen to me for a damn minute." He waited for a moment and when Jefferson said nothing further, Killian continued. "I worry about you being by yourself. I really do like you. I know you like me too. At least, I think you do. Otherwise you wouldn't let me come around as often as you do. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I—I care for you. A lot.”

Jefferson swallowed the lump in his throat. He wasn’t equipped to deal with this. He used the ice cream cone in his hand as a distraction, wiping a dribble from the cone and sighing.

“Jefferson.”

“I didn’t know you felt so strongly,” Jefferson admitted honestly. “I mean I know you put up with a lot from me but I didn’t know you felt like... that.”

Killian sighed and briefly put a hand over his face. “You didn’t know?” he asked in an accusatory tone. “You didn’t have any clue at all? I find that difficult to believe.”

Jefferson hesitated for a moment before smiling softly and turning to his pirate. “I knew there had to be some underlying explanation for your patience.” Killian gave a soft chuckle at that. “But why—why are you telling me this?”

He folded his hands in his lap and leaned back in the seat with a deep breath. Jefferson picked up on his nervousness but didn’t mention it. “I think there’s potential for something good to come of it, that’s all.”

“So you’re saying you wanna be my boyfriend? Basically?”

“I am simply trying to ask if you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime,” Killian stated as if it were obvious.

Jefferson resumed lapping at his ice cream cone until it was no longer melting onto his fingers. “We eat together all the time,” he said pointedly.

“I meant dinner in a restaurant. The whole charade of picking out clothing and messing with hair and picking you up at seven o'clock tomorrow night. That’s what I meant.”

Jefferson sat still for a moment. The thought of Killian Jones asking for a date was ridiculous and slightly amusing. Even with their current situation Jefferson never thought he’d see the day where the pirate would ask him for a proper night out. His reply was shaky and a little uncertain but he nodded. “Okay.”

Killian tried to hide his excitement but the twitching muscles at the corners of his mouth gave him away. “Good. I'll drive you home."


	13. Chapter 13

Jefferson partly expected Killian to be late. He sat on the sofa in the outfit he'd picked out: dark wash wash jeans, a gray cashmere sweater and a lightweight scarf with different hues of purple and blue. He looked nice but still casual which was what he was aiming for. He exhaled shakily and thought about how absurd this was. Going on a date? He hadn't been on a date for years. Something was sure to go wrong and then he'd lose Killian altogether. He immediately regretted the decision he'd made to come on this ridiculous date but he didn't have time to act on his regret because as soon as he stood up to search for his cell and cancel, Killian was knocking on the door.

Jefferson sighed deeply and smoothed his sweater before he walked through the foyer. He opened the door with an audible gasp at which Killian chuckled. He stood there clad in all black wearing straight leg jeans, a leather jacket and a black button up shirt.

A soft 'hi' is all Jefferson could manage because this was definitely not what he was expecting. His response drew another laugh from Killian.

"You ready to go?"

Jefferson wet his lips quickly and nodded. "Yeah." He grabbed for his coat that hung on the hook next to the door and followed Killian out to his truck. They climbed in silently and it wasn't until they were off down the rode that Jefferson decided to speak.

"You look nice," he said quietly. He hoped his embarrassment didn't come across too clear. If it did, Killian ignored it.

"Thank you," he said with a nod. "As do you."

"I didn't know you cleaned up so well." Jefferson smiled to himself and then looked over just in time to see the pirate wipe his palm on the leg of his jeans. He felt better knowing that Killian was just as nervous and oddly enough, that helped him relax a little. He straightened in his seat and asked, "Where are we going?"

"I'd like to say it's a surprise but there are only two restaurants in town and one of them is in the opposite direction," Killian answered.

Jefferson laughed louder than he should have and turned to look out the window. Despite the chill in the air, it was a beautiful evening. The sun was long gone but the sky was clear and the moon shone bright. “It’s nice out,” he said softly.

Killian laughed. “You’re really going to talk about the weather?”

Jefferson faced forward again and sighed. “I was just saying that it’s nice outside. The weather has been kind of shitty lately if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m outside eleven hours a day but nope, I haven’t noticed.”

“And you say I’m the sarcastic one,” he muttered in a childish mumble.

“Hey.” Killian reached across the console and briefly took Jefferson’s left hand in his right one. “You know I’m only joking.”

Jefferson pulled his hand free with a small nod. “I know.”

They arrived at Antonio’s bar and grill sometime later and made their way inside. Jefferson had eaten here before, only delivery takeout, but the atmosphere is much like he pictured it to be. The lighting was soft, the flooring a dark wood paneling, and every table was set with a white table cloth and a candelabra in the center.

They took their seats, Killian politely declining the waiter's suggestion of fine wines that were available. They both settled on water regardless of Jefferson's attempts to tell Killian it was okay if he wanted to drink. Once their water was delivered they spent a few good minutes looking over the menu.

"What do you figure is safe?" Killian asked.

Jefferson glanced up at him. "Um... I’m gonna go with the duck probably. I've had the steak before, and the lobster. I mean, if you've got doubts about anything I'd stick with the chicken. That's usually playing it safe."

Killian hummed in agreement and put the menu on the table. Jefferson did the same and sat back with his hands in his lap. "So."

"So."

"This is weird," Jefferson concluded.

"Why's it weird?"

"I don't know! How are we supposed to have a normal conversation?"

Killian laughed and leaned back in his chair. "You're being ridiculous. We don't have to have a normal conversation. I've seen you at your worst. There's nothing we can talk about that will make me uncomfortable."

With a nod Jefferson said softly, "You're right."

*

By the time their meals came they were deep in conversation about anything other than Jefferson's teetering mental state. They briefly talked about Killian's job and the strong storm that was supposed to hit next week and with it bring several inches of snow. Killian promised to bring Jefferson a loaf of firewood so he'd have plenty and Jefferson insisted that he would help unload it.

Halfway through dinner Killian looked up from his plate. "Is your meal good?"

"Yeah, sure," Jefferson nodded. "Is yours okay?"

"Yep. Think you'll have room for dessert?"

A small smile spread across Jefferson's lips. "Maybe. Why?"

"Because of that." With a nod of his head he directed Jefferson's attention to the dessert cart with a toffee cheesecake in the center of it.

Jefferson chuckled. “I think I could manage to force some down."

Killian’s attention returned to his meal and Jefferson’s smile fell as a family of three walked past their table. The child looked to be close to Grace’s age and was more than likely a school mate of hers. The thought brought a sharp pang of sadness to Jefferson’s heart and suddenly he wasn’t so hungry anymore. The guilt and feeling of failure set in quickly and Jefferson fought back tears. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat staring with glassy eyes but it was long enough for his date to notice.

“Jefferson?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright? Do we need to go?”

Jefferson blinked causing two of the tears to fall but he quickly wipe them away, hoping that no one had seen him. “No, I’m—I’m alright. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Killian replied. He extended his hand across the table, palm up in invitation. Jefferson took it gratefully and with a sad smile, placed his hand over Killian’s.

“Thank you,” Jefferson whispered. He didn’t mean just for the comforting gesture of holding his hand, but for everything: the late night calls, the tantrums, the breakdowns—Killian took them in stride with patience that Jefferson couldn’t understand. “For—for everything you’ve done for me. I really appreciate it.”

Killian smiled sympathetically, responding with a soft squeeze of his fingers. “My pleasure, love.” He pushed away his empty plate. “Now how about that cheesecake?”

*

They were the last guests out of the restaurant and one of the wait staff locked the doors after they left. It was impossibly colder outside by the time they returned to the truck. Jefferson hugged his coat around himself and felt exhausted. His stomach was full and climbing into bed was the only way he could imagine spending the rest of the evening.

The drive to his house was comfortably silent with the radio playing on the background. Killian pulled his truck as close to the door as possible and put it into park.

“You’re not coming in?” Jefferson asked as he removed his seat belt.

“I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Oh,” he nodded, reaching for the door handle. “Well, I had a really great time. Thank you for dinner.”

Killian reached out and gently put a hand on Jefferson’s forearm, leaning across the console to kiss him. It was soft and warm and when he pulled back Jefferson tasted the remnants of the decadent cheesecake on his lips.

Jefferson nodded and swallowed, opening the door and hopping out. “Well, um, bye,” he said, somewhat unsure.

“I’ll call you soon,” Killian promised. With that, Jefferson shut the door and watched until the old pickup disappeared into the night.


	14. Chapter 14

"I really can take care of myself," Jefferson argued as he and Killian unloaded the firewood from the back of the rusted Chevy bed.

"Debatable," Killian retorted with a shrug.

They were nearly done, the sun was nearly set and the snow had just started to fall. Had Killian not worked overtime they could have been done with this an hour ago but he didn't mind it. The cold didn't seem to faze him although Jefferson was noticeably shivering.

Killian hauled the last of the logs onto the rack and closed the tailgate as Jefferson pulled the garage door closed. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

"Well thank you. I appreciate it. Just because I'm insistent doesn't mean I'm ungrateful." He didn't want to seem too desperate for company but he really did want Killian to come in. He jerked his head in the direction of the front door and pulled his jacket closed. "Wanna come in? I have roast in the oven. It’s the least I could do."

Killian looked as if he didn't want to bother with going in. He was tired from work but the expression on Jefferson's face swayed his decision. He nodded and followed Jefferson inside. The warmth of the house took Killian by surprise and he wondered if he really was that cold and just didn't realize it. He shed his coat and plopped down in front of the roaring fireplace.

"Coffee?" Jefferson asked as he walked into the kitchen.

"Please," Killian nodded. He let his head fall back and sighed deeply. He certainly could have drifted to sleep had Jefferson not come back minutes later with a cup of coffee for him and a cup of tea for himself. Jefferson handed the coffee over and curled his legs under him as he sat on the opposite end of the couch.

Several sips of tea later, Jefferson felt obligated to say something. He noted the bags under Killian's eyes. "You look exhausted," he admitted.

He looked over to Jefferson without moving. "I am exhausted.”

“The roast should be done in about fifteen minutes; you can eat and then go home and sleep.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They sipped their warm beverages until the oven timer beeped, breaking the silence. Jefferson got up and dawdled around the kitchen, dishing up their plates and filling water goblets. He called for Killian who came into the kitchen slowly, all but dragging his feet. He plopped into a chair at the breakfast table and waited to be served.

Jefferson brought their glasses and then their plates, to which Killian was grateful. He caught Jefferson’s hand as he retracted it and pressed a soft kiss to Jefferson’s forearm. “Thanks, love.”

In an unexpected move, Jefferson ruffled his fingers through Killian’s hair with a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

*

After dinner Jefferson cleaned up the kitchen as Killian remained at the table. He felt self-conscious as Killian’s eyes drifted back and forth and knew he was being watched. It shouldn’t have bothered him but it did. Part of him wanted to ask Killian to stay the night but he thought it selfish to ask him to say when he was so clearly exhausted from work.

When the kitchen was clean they migrated to the living room and sprawled on the couch. Killian sat at the same end as before and this time Jefferson joined him, stretched across his lap with his head on the arm rest. It wasn’t the most comfortable but Killian didn’t mind. A nameless made-for-TV movie played on the flat screen and neither of them had much interest in the matter, but they watched it. From what Jefferson could gather it was about a woman whose ex-boyfriend had found her and her child where they hid out in a small town.

After a while Jefferson felt a hand at his hand as fingers began to stroke his hair. “That feels nice,” he hummed. He turned his head and smiled up almost shyly.

Killian smiled down at him just as shyly. “You’ve been doing that more,” he said.

“What?”

”Smiling.”

Jefferson turned back to the TV. “Oh.”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“I know.”

“Hm.” Killian leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and told himself it was just for a moment.

*

Presumably they fell asleep sometime around the beginning of the second made-for-TV movie. Jefferson woke first, stiff and sore from sleeping across Killian’s lap. He sat up and looked around. The clock above the fireplace read it was nearly midnight. He nudged Killian awake, his voice thick from sleep. "Wake up.”

“Hm?”

“We fell asleep.”

“Time’s it?” Killian asked.

“Almost midnight.” Jefferson pulled himself off the sofa and went to the closest window. The snow was coming down in sheets. There were already several inches on the ground and the wind was whipping it hard enough to make driving in the mess nearly impossible and definitely unsafe. This discovery was somewhat joyous. This weather meant Killian had no choice but to stay put.

“How’s it looking out there?”

Jefferson put on his best disappointed face and turned back to the man on the couch. “Bad. Impossible to drive in, probably.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Killian rose to his feet and crossed to where Jefferson stood. With one glance, he sighed. There was no way he’d be leaving any time soon.

“I mean it’s not bad, right? You don’t have work or anything?”

“No.” His eyes remained on the snow for a minute longer before he turned to Jefferson with a smirk. “Looks like I’m stuck here for the time being.”

Jefferson offered a small smile of his own. “That’s not so bad, is it?”

In a bold move Killian took Jefferson by the waist, pulling him in and kissing him fully on the mouth.


	15. Chapter 15

The lights had been flickering every so often. The town was warned there could be power outages, but Killian found it much more important that they spend time undressing each other rather than preparing for a possible emergency. He’d just managed to rid Jefferson of those annoying pants when he pulled away and stood up. “We should probably— _oh_.”

Killian groaned and reached out, grabbing Jefferson by his hips an pulling him back into his body. His mouth went to work on Jefferson's neck, kissing a slow trail up to the sensitive spot below his ear. Jefferson whimpered as he leaned back into the touch. He let his mind escape for a short moment before pulling away completely. He was breathless which was ridiculous considering they’d only been kissing. “Let’s get everything done first and then we can finish whatever... _that_ is.”

“Get what done? You said you’ve got food in case of a power outage. There’s firewood in the garage,” Killian reasoned. “We’ll be fine.”

Jefferson shook his head. “We should fill up the bathtubs just in case and turn on the faucets on. I don’t exactly want to deal with frozen pipes.” He reached for his pants and pulled them on before heading upstairs. With a groan Killian complied, trudging up after him shortly after.

“How bad do you think it’ll actually get? I didn’t know they were expecting power outages.”

“That’s because you don’t spend hours in front of the TV every day like I do. Hey!” Jefferson frowned as Killian’s arms encircled his waist once more.

“What’s another hour? It’s not too bad outside yet. Surely we’ll be done before the power goes out, if the power goes out.”

Jefferson made no move to get out of Killian’s grasp and thought for a moment. It felt incredible to be held by another person and there was an overwhelming sense of calm because of it. It’s not like he didn’t want this because he did, he wanted it nearly as much as he wanted Grace back. He knew that couldn’t, wouldn’t happen, and so Jefferson gave into temptation.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But I want to take showers first.”

“Deal.”

*

Freshly showered, Jefferson sat patiently on the edge of his bed. He wore fresh sweats and a long sleeve shirt and when he heard the shower shut off, he took a deep breath. His nerves got the best of him which was stupid; they’d done this a dozen times before. He guessed it’s because it’s never really had a meaning and before it was just a simple exchange of sex for money. Now it maybe might possibly mean something and Jefferson wasn’t sure how to take it.

Killian walked out with a towel around his waist, drying his hair with another. “I wasn’t aware we were getting dressed again.”

Jefferson bit his lip lightly, holding back a smile. “Undressing is the fun part.”

Killian laughed and tossed his hair towel onto the floor. Jefferson stood as he approached and he was certain his heart had never beat faster. Time seemed to escape him and before he knew it, Killian was on the bed next to him and they were kissing. It wasn’t light pecking or frenzied tonguing but the kind of slow, intimate kissing that consumed a person’s entire being. Jefferson tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss and their lips moved together in perfect sync. All he could think was how good it felt to have someone this close again, someone who wasn't paying him this time, someone who actually cared. Killian brought his hands to Jefferson's hips with a gentle squeeze and that touch made Jefferson realize just how much more he wanted.

He took control now, placing his hand against the center of Killian's chest and pushing him back onto the bed. He shed his t-shirt with shaky hands and Killian pulled him closer, pressing scratchy kisses to the pale skin of his stomach. Jefferson's head fell back and that, he decided, was definitely his new favorite thing. His eyes slipped closed as the kisses traveled farther south to his hipbones, and then back up in a teasing gesture until Killian pulled away completely and pushed Jefferson's sweats to his ankles. Jefferson stepped out of them and nearly lost balance as he was pulled onto the bed on top of Killian. Their lips met again and when Killian's palms slid down to cup Jefferson's bare ass, Jefferson let out a moan. He paused briefly, embarrassed, before he returned his attention to the kisses that soon became more desperate and needy until they were panting into each other's mouths.

Jefferson pulled away and moved to grab the tube of lubricant from the nightstand. In doing so, Killian's hard cock brushed against his thigh and Jefferson swallowed nervously. He handed the bottle over and flipped onto his back, legs spread in invitation.

Killian moved between his legs and coated his fingers generously. Jefferson gasped softly when he felt two fingers tease his opening, circling around the puckered hole. He willed himself to calm down as Killian let one finger ease its way into the tight warmth. Jefferson made a sound somewhere between a gasp and whine, a small noise escaping every time Killian curled his fingers. Jefferson kept still, resisting the urge to push back against the digits inside him. After several moments, Killian inserted a third finger, causing Jefferson to let out a low whimper. He couldn't keep as still any longer and writhed against him, letting out a loud gasp when Killian brushed his prostate. Killian emitted a small victorious laugh, rubbing against the sensitive nub once more.

"Fuck," Jefferson whined. His cock was impossibly hard against his belly and his thighs trembled in anticipation. His eyes were closed as he felt sensitive kisses and the slight scratch of facial hair on his belly.

"That's the goal," Killian retorted in a playful tone, earning a frown from Jefferson.

"I'm good, can you just—?"

Killian withdrew his fingers and moved into position, hands on either side of Jefferson's head. He reached down, cock in hand, and pushed inside, slowly at first and then all at once. Jefferson's lips parted with a sharp gasp, his chest rising with the action. As he adjusted, Killian's mouth found that sensitive junction of his neck and shoulder with his lips. Jefferson groaned appreciatively, lifting his legs to wrap them around Killian's waist and in doing so, shifting Killian deeper inside him.

The thrusts started slowly and then accelerated. Jefferson was overly vocal, panting as Killian worked his cock deeper. His own cock lay neglected against his belly until Killian's fingers wrapped around it, stroking in rhythm with his own thrusts. Jefferson was fairly sure he'd never felt anything as good as this and reached up, bringing Killian down for a kiss. Their lips moved gently at first but soon their kisses grew sloppy until they pulled away altogether.

Jefferson began to move his hips, rocking with Killian’s rhythm. His cries didn't cease and as Killian kept hitting that sweet spot, all he could picture was how they must look together. He found the image largely arousing and spread his legs a bit more, trying to increase pleasure. A familiar pressure began to build up in his belly, the feeling intensified by the strokes of Killian's expert fingers. It grew rapidly and he was sure he couldn't hold off. "Killian—"

Killian panted in Jefferson's ear, his hand still moving. "Almost there, love."

Jefferson reached up, clutching Killian's shoulders and pressing his face into his neck as he felt the desperate need to hold onto him. He spilled himself over his belly and Killian's fingers, gasping. His legs shook slightly as Killian's thrusts increased in speed and he came inside him. They stayed still for several seconds before Jefferson's legs fell back to the bed. Killian pulled out and fell beside him, kissing his earlobe softly. "Are you alright?"

Jefferson nodded. His need to hold and to be held hadn't ceased. He rolled onto his side, pressing against Killian's body as the afterglow of his orgasm set in. He rested his head comfortably on Killian's chest. He hated it, hated that he needed to be held and that he was in a vulnerable state to open himself up to this kind of contact. Thankfully, Killian was more than willing to give Jefferson what he needed and wrapped his arms around him securely.


	16. Chapter 16

As predicted, the snow storm turned into a power outage which turned into the two of them huddling under layers of blankets in front of the fireplace. In actuality they should be upstairs where it was warmer, but Jefferson was intent on sleeping in front of the roaring fire. During this discussion, Killian couldn’t get a word in edgewise and ultimately gave in. He didn’t mind it as much as he let on; it was rather cozy despite the hard wood floor beneath them.

Killian stared at Jefferson, the way his eyes remained still for such a long time, and wondered what he was thinking about. Jefferson maintained a certain face when he was in deep thought and Killian recognized it immediately. With the crease of his brow, Killian knew what Jefferson was thinking about. In a silent gesture he kissed his cheek lightly.

“It’s hard,” Jefferson whispered as if they were already in a deep conversation. He didn’t need to explain himself; Killian knew all too well what he was referring to.

Rough, calloused fingertips swept away a stray tear on Jefferson’s cheek. ”I know it’s hard for you, but you’re doing better. You’re doing so much better lately. I’m glad to see you handling things. Do you want to talk about it...?”  
  
Jefferson nodded. “It’s just hard. The holidays are always so hard without her. Last year was really bad. I can’t remember hardly any of it. I think I was falling-down drunk for two and a half solid months.”

Killian felt a twinge of pain in his heart. He couldn’t blame Jefferson for not remembering. He was entirely wasted when Killian came over two days before Christmas. He wasn’t looking for a fuck or a fun time, he’d brought Jefferson a dinner plate from the party at Granny’s earlier in the evening. Jefferson had sneered at him to leave, that he didn’t need charity, that he was fine—which he obviously wasn’t. Killian left but sent the sheriff to check on Jefferson.

With a deep sigh Jefferson rolled over and tucked himself further against Killian’s side. He looked up at him in an innocent daze from under his dark lashes. “What are we?”

Killian smiled just barely, bringing his arm up to loosely wrap around Jefferson’s waist. “How do you mean?”

“Friends or—?”

“I think that’s for you to decide.”

“How so?”

“You’ve got to quit the drugs. I don’t know when’s the last time you... indulged, and I'm not asking. I’m telling you that right now—if you want us to continue—you’ve got to stop them and your way of making money, so to speak.”

He shouldn’t have had to think about it at all, but he did. With Killian around he didn’t need to escape reality. For the most part he could deal with the fact that he and Grace were separated. As long as Killian was there for him, he thought he’d be okay. He was sure he didn’t need them anymore. He swallowed audibly before giving Killian a small nod. “Okay.”

Killian looked at him directly, arched eyebrow and half a smile lighting up his features. “Alright then. Now, how should we spend the rest of this power outage?”

Jefferson smirked briefly before he disappeared beneath the layers of blankets.

*

The power returned sometime after the second round of lazy sex on the living room floor. They’d fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning and Jefferson woke at dawn to find the kitchen lights still on from the previous night. He dawdled around the house for a few minutes, turning the heat up to 72 and flipping off the lights before he crawled back into the cocoon of warmth and comfort.

*

“Jefferson.”

He awoke at the gentle shaking of his shoulder and soon the aroma of frying bacon filled his senses. Killian extended a hand in an offer to help him up. Jefferson stood, reaching for his clothes that he’d shed the night before. He followed Killian into the kitchen where a small breakfast spread of toast, eggs, and bacon had been prepared.

“What’s this?” He held back a frown because, honestly, the idea food didn’t thrill him to say the least. He didn’t have the heart to tell Killian that his stomach churned at the smell.

“Breakfast,” Killian replied in an ‘isn’t it obvious?’ tone. “I figured it was time I return the favor.” He motioned to the breakfast table. “Take a seat.”

Jefferson did so, holding a tight smile as he was served. Killian set his plate down in front of him, accompanying it with a kiss to his hair, before sitting down with his own meal.

They only sound in the room was the clinking of forks against plates and the soft thumps of glasses landing on the table top. Jefferson glanced up at his companion to find Killian watching him. “What?”

Killian echoed, “What, what?”

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No.”

“Why were you staring?”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Really? Because I’m fairly certain that I just caught you making eyes at me. What’s that about?”

Killian scoffed. “I wasn’t making eyes. What does that even mean?”

Silence.

Jefferson rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair waiting for an explanation. He crossed his arms in a dramatic cue. ”I’m waiting.”

More silence.

”We just fucked twice in the middle of my living room. I think we’re past the point of being shy around each other.”

Finally, Killian sighed and looked down at his plate. “You don’t like the food.”

“What?”

“You don’t like my cooking, do you? That’s what this is about.”

“What?” Jefferson cried defensively. “I like your cooking! I was eating it, wasn’t I?”

“You’re just picking at it,” Killian replied. His face fell slightly with the admission and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed as he told himself that he definitely wasn’t pouting.

Jefferson smiled sympathetically and reached over, resting his hand on Killian’s arm. “It’s not the food, it’s my stomach. I’m not feeling my best this morning, that’s all.”

“You could have said something instead of making me feel like an ass.”

Jefferson retracted his hand. “You were so excited and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.” He stood with his plate of half-eaten breakfast and leaned over to kiss Killian’s forehead softly, muttering another apology as he did so.

“Jefferson?” he asked moments later when Jefferson was dumping the contents of his plate into the trash can.

“Hm?”

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, I don’t have plans. I usually just stay home by myself. Sometimes Ruby will bring me a plate of leftovers but I never plan anything for myself. Why?”

“A couple of guys from work usually get together. I was invited and, well, I thought maybe you’d like to join us.”

Jefferson froze where he stood at the sink. Water ran over his plate that he’d been rinsing. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how to respond. Of course he wanted to spend the holiday with Killian, but he wasn’t sure if he could be around other people. He knew that Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years were especially bad times for him. “Or you and I could spend it together and I could cook.”

“Jefferson...”

“What?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. They’re good men, they’d welcome you like you’re family.”

“I—I don’t know. I’d rather not leave the house.”

“Then we can have it here,” Killian said hopefully. “ You’ve got plenty of room. Please, love, I’d hate for you to miss out. Maybe you could even cook—host it! You can invite that friend of yours from the diner. You’d be great at it, I’m sure. It'll be good for you.”

Jefferson looked over at Killian. He couldn’t imagine spending the holiday without him, without anyone, ever again. Now that he’d opened himself up to Killian he felt better about things in general. He didn’t want that feeling to go away. He nodded just a little. “Okay. I’ll host.”


	17. Chapter 17

The skies were partly cloudy and melted snow-turned-ice from the storm last week still lingered in small patches on the grass and sidewalks. It was Thanksgiving morning and Killian was just returning from the store. He tossed the bag of coffee and surplus butter onto the counter.

“You’ve pulled yourself together remarkably well,” Killian noted. When he left Jefferson was still in bed, naked and wrapped in a cocoon of warm blankets. Now he was freshly showered and he stood at the counter chopping onions effortlessly.

“I have a meal to host,” Jefferson reminded him. “Thanks for making the coffee run.”

Killian approached him, hand on Jefferson’s hip, and kissed his cheek from behind. “Of course. What can I do to help?”

Jefferson turned his head and kissed lightly him on the mouth. He gestured to the freshly washed stalks of celery on the counter. “You can chop the celery for the dressing.”

He nodded, gently taking the knife from Jefferson as it was offered to him. He stepped in front of the cutting board after grabbing the celery and his hands went to work quickly. "Are we still on schedule for four o'clock?"

"Mhm.”

Killian continued to chop celery and Jefferson wiped his hands on a towel. He sighed deeply for what felt like the hundredth time but he couldn't help it; frequent, heavy sighing seemed to ward off potential panic attacks. Leaning against the counter, he watched out the kitchen window at the birds hopping from branch to branch on the tree outside.

"Jefferson?"

"Huh?" He turned to look at Killian, who had since chopped all the celery.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You seem off. I'm worried," Killian admitted.

"I told you I don't do well around holidays. Besides that I'm fine."

Killian nodded and moved to where Jefferson stood. He took him into his arms from behind, his chest to Jefferson's back and Jefferson did little to protest. If he was being honest, he enjoyed moments like this where Killian would seize and hold him. It soothed him, made him calm, helped him feel better always. He felt the slight scratch of facial hair against his jaw and closed his eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay to do this?"

Jefferson swallowed and nodded. "I'm sure. It's too late to back out now. And like you said: it'll be good for me."

"You don't sound too sincere."

"Well, if I keep telling myself that maybe I'll actually believe it." He pulled away with a sad smile. "It's awful not having Grace around for stuff like this. And Christmas. God, Christmas is always so hard." As Jefferson spoke, his voice cracked lightly. He tried to look busy and went to the refrigerator to pull out the pies he'd baked the night before. He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking and he felt like he was going to collapse. His heart was racing and despite the deep sighing, he felt himself hyperventilating.

Killian had noticed by now and moved across the kitchen. Jefferson felt himself being led over to the table where he sat down, heavy and lead-like in the chair.

“Jefferson,” Killian pleaded. “Breathe. Please breathe.” He sat down next to him, hand on Jefferson’s cheek and fingers stroking gently. “It’s fine, everything is going to be fine.”

Jefferson began breathing slow, deep, complete breaths. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch of Killian’s palm against his cheek. He told himself that it was only a panic attack, that nothing more serious was happening, that he’d had them many times before and he was fine. He continued with the slow deep breaths until he began to relax a little. He opened his eyes and Killian was still staring at him, relieved but still concerned.

“Hey,” he said with sad small smile. “Better?”

Jefferson nodded.

“What was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I just get them sometimes.”

“Panic attacks?” he asked, receiving a nod. He leaned over and kissed Jefferson’s forehead softly. “You sit and relax. I’ll finish everything.”

Jefferson attempted to rise to his feet but Killian pushed him back down. “You need to rest. You can supervise me from the table.”

“What do I need to do next?”

Jefferson sighed. “Finish the dressing.”  
  
*  
  
By four o’clock Killian had managed to complete every task Jefferson delegated to him. He had the food spread on the counter with extra spaces for their guests to place their contribution dishes to the meal. He managed to find time to change into a plaid flannel and was just straightening up the kitchen. Jefferson had left to get showered and cleaned up and when he reappeared silently in the kitchen, Killian’s mouth dropped.

Jefferson was dressed in all black, a scarf wrapped around his neck to keep his scar discreet. He tugged at his sweater nervously. “What?”

“You look phenomenal.”

Jefferson smiled and no, he was not blushing. “And you look like a lumber jack,” he said in reference to Killian’s buffalo plaid shirt. “The beard really pulls the look together.”

Killian laughed and strode over, taking Jefferson by the hips. “I’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you.”

“Not too hard I hope.” Jefferson smiled again and just as he leaned in for a kiss, the doorbell rang.  
  
*  
  
He sat at the end of the long dining room table next to Killian. Ruby and her grandmother sat across from them. There was Smee and two couples whom Jefferson couldn’t remember the names of. He’d been hitting the wine heavily (a bad choice, he knew) and Killian tried unsuccessfully to intervene. They argued for two minutes in the kitchen until Killian threw his hands up in a ‘do whatever you want’ gesture.

Despite Jefferson’s tipsy state, the meal was lovely. The spread was just enough for those who gathered to eat and Ruby’s grandmother provided them with enough pumpkin cheesecake bars for a small army. After the main course, they trickled in and out of the kitchen for desserts. Jefferson barely touched his first plate. There was still a heaping spoonful of dressing on his plate. He had picked at the turkey and managed to eat half a roll, but he mainly consumed wine.

As others ventured into the living room for after dinner coffee, Jefferson sat at the dining room table alone. He was in a dangerous state, that was obvious. He recalled the ultimatum Killian had given him and felt tempted to break his promise. One high would be enough to help him cope. Money was the only thing keeping him from that. Of course there were ways to make money but he’d have to wait. It was Thanksgiving, after all, and everyone else in town was spending it with their families. Jefferson didn’t have a family.

Killian came in quietly and started to clear the dishes from the table. After the first trip back from the kitchen he seized the opportunity to talk. He sat down in the chair beside Jefferson, gently took the wine glass from his trembling fingers and sat it aside.

“Jefferson,” he pleaded.

He looked up at Killian was glassy eyes, tears ready to spill over any minute. “I’m fine,” he said, reaching for his glass.

“You are not fine.” His eyes flickered down to Jefferson’s plate. “You’ve barely eaten anything.”

“Maybe I’m not hungry,” he retorted, childish and stubborn. He reached for the wine glass and Killian grabbed his hand instead, stopping him in his tracks. Jefferson looked at Killian and saw only concern and worry and it broke him. The tears spilled over hot on his cheeks and he covered his face with his hand. Killian leaned over and hugged him, petting his hair gently.

“I miss Grace. I miss her, I miss her so much,” Jefferson muttered. He felt smothered, like he was alone, when Killian was right here with him. He sounded very small and he felt Killian’s arms tighten around his waist. “It hurts so bad.”

”I know it does. I’m so sorry, Jefferson.”

Jefferson’s fingers curled into the the plaid fabric of Killian’s shirt and there was relief. He buried his face in Killian’s neck, felt the scratch of his beard against his jaw, and he could breathe again. He felt a light kiss on his neck and then Killian was holding him at an arm’s length.

“Why don’t you go upstairs? I’ll clean up and show everyone out.”

Jefferson was in no shape to argue. He nodded and stood up, slightly unstable, and made his way upstairs. It was all Killian could do to watch him go.


	18. Chapter 18

Just as Jefferson was dozing off in front of the TV, Killian burst through the door. "Sorry I'm late," he called.

Jefferson sat up and glanced at the clock on the mantle. "You were supposed to be here over an hour ago."

"I know, love, I'm sorry." He bent at the waist to give Jefferson a soft kiss on the mouth, just a quick peck similar to those given and received between a long-married couple. Jefferson wasn't going to allow that affectionate gesture to sway his dissatisfaction.

"You could have called."

"My phone died. I made getting here my priority. I'm sorry I didn't stop to charge my cell."

"So now it's my fault?"

"I didn't say— _what_?"

Jefferson crossed is arms, waiting for an explanation that was obviously not going to come any time soon. The artificial Christmas tree sat assembled but bare in the corner of the living room where they had left it late last night. Killian had insisted on starting the Christmas decorating, saying that it'd help Jefferson feel better, and promised that they would decorate the tree tonight. He said he'd come straight here after work. He said he'd be here at six. It was now pushing eight o'clock.

Killian had made the decision to stay over semi-permanently the Saturday after Thanksgiving. He didn't even consult Jefferson, not that he'd care. But Killian saw the downhill slide Jefferson was starting and hoped that with his presence, he could stop it. Decorating for Christmas had only meant to be a distraction.

With a sigh, Killian ran a hand through his hair. He walked over to the couch, plopped down next to Jefferson and leaned back. As if on cue, Jefferson curled into his side, his anger quickly dissolving.

"I'm sorry I'm late and I didn't think to call," Killian said. He slid an arm around Jefferson's shoulders, pulled him closer and kissed his forehead. "Have you eaten dinner?"

"I'm not hungry," Jefferson said softly. "I can cook something if you want, though."

"How about you start on decorating the tree and I'll call for a pizza?"

He nodded meekly. He didn't have the heart to tell Killian that he didn't really want to eat. He wanted to crawl into bed and be warm, but most of all he wanted a fix. He yearned for a buzz, the light-headed feeling cocaine lent him. He desperately wanted an escape but all he got was a part-time lover who was concerned with his well-being.

As Killian disappeared into the kitchen to phone in the order Jefferson made his way over to the plastic tubs that held the lights, bulbs and ribbon for the tree. He began to unpack the boxes and wonder why the hell he ever thought it was a good idea to just throw lights in boxes with tinsel and expect them not to tangle.

After a few minutes Jefferson managed to get the lights and tinsel untangled. He was testing them to ensure they were working when Killian appeared behind him, arms slipping around his Jefferson's waist and squeezing gently. "We've got thirty minutes before the pizza arrives," he schmoozed.

"Stop it." It came out sounding harsher than intended and Jefferson pulled away. He resumed his work on the lights until he was sure they all worked. The next time he glanced up at Killian he felt guilty. He watched him try to look busy with sorting ornaments and then he let out a short breath. "I"m sorry."

"No, no—it's alright."

"I just—"

"It's the holidays," Killian supplied. "You don't do well with them; you told me. I should understand that you wouldn't want to—well, you know. It's fine, love. Really."

Jefferson crossed the rooms and nuzzled his way into Killian's embrace, face tucked into the crook of his neck. Immediately, he felt relief and comfort and the feeling only intensified when Killian's arms wrapped around him in return. He felt Killian's hand at the back of his head, rough calloused fingers playing with his hair as if to soothe him and he held on tighter. He was struggling with everything these days, trying to fight back the nagging sensation at the back of his mind, trying not to let himself cave into the temptation. He craved a high, even considered it, but he'd made Killian a promise. He had considered breaking it, he  _wanted_  to break it. That made him cry harder.

They stayed like that for some time until Jefferson finally pulled back. He wiped his face and Killian gave him a soft smile.

"Better, yeah?"

Jefferson nodded. "Thank you."  
  
*  
  
An empty pizza box sat on the coffee table along with a few empty beer bottles and Jefferson's watery glass of Coke. The tree was nearly done. Jefferson managed to relax after he'd eaten something and ornaments were hanging from the green plastic branches. Despite Jefferson's protests, Killian had turned on the television to the Christmas music channel. Some rendition of rendition of Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" played softly in the background. Jefferson thought it to be disgustingly cliche and chose to ignore the song completely as they hung the remaining decorations. After a while, the only thing left at the bottom of the decoration bin was a 5 point star tree topper, complete with gold glitter. Killian pulled it from the box and offered it to Jefferson.

"Oh, no. By all means, go ahead." He chuckled a little and motioned for Killian to top the tree. He watched as Killian rose onto his toes just barely, his shirt riding up to reveal the feathery hair just below his navel and a pale strip of skin. Jefferson felt a small urge to seize the moment, to grab Killian and pull him to the floor, hoping that it would end in them shedding their clothes, but then decided against it. He was tired.

Killian stepped back to where Jefferson stood and put his hands on his hips in a captain's stance. "It looks fantastic."

Jefferson shrugged a shoulder. "It's not bad."

" _Not bad_? I think it's worthy of a magazine."

He laughed softly, going to stand next to Killian and bumping him lightly with his hip. "You gonna stay the night?"

 _Please stay,_  he hoped.  _Please stay. I need you to stay._

Killian scratched once behind his ear—a nervous tick—and cleared his throat. "I've got to go wash clothes for work. And I'm  _really_  tired, and I need to go check on things at home. I haven't been there in days."

"I really want you to stay," Jefferson said quickly. "I'm sure everything is fine. Please stay."

"I can't," Killian said honestly.

"You can't or you won't?"

"That's not fair."

"Look, I am  _asking you_. I've never asked you before," Jefferson rattled, desperate. "Please stay with me tonight."

"I'd love to, you know that, but I really can't."

Jefferson thought about what he could say to sway his decision. He knew if he hinted at being unstable, at wanting to do something harmful to himself, that Killian would stay. But Jefferson didn't want to be that person. Instead, he saw this as an opportunity to get what he'd been wanting for days now: a high. A beautiful, glorious high without anyone to answer to and without anyone worrying over him. When Killian left momentarily to go to the bathroom, Jefferson seized the moment. He rooted for the wallet in Killian's coat pocket and picked him clean. Thirty-two dollars wasn't enough for the amount of escape Jefferson intended to buy. He'd have to resort to other avenues.

When Killian returned, Jefferson swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll walk you out."  
  
*  
  
After Killian had gone home, been kissed goodnight, Jefferson was left in his dark, quiet house. The stupid Christmas tree cast a welcoming glow and Jefferson  _hated it_. He wanted to tear it down immediately. The sight of it angered him. He thought briefly about knocking it over. H envisioned the ornate glass bulbs shattering into a million shards on the wooden floor. He ultimately decided against it. Instead, he reached for his phone and dialed the familiar number.

"Whale? It's Jefferson."


	19. Chapter 19

Jefferson learned quickly at first. Learned by necessity and desperation. He needed money, but more than money he needed coke. It was to his advantage that he didn't have friends or anyone else to associate himself with. That meant everyone who was a potential customer was fair game; there was no hesitation or wondering.

He learned to block out why he was doing this, fucking men for money, and he certainly trained himself not to break down in front of anyone. He wouldn't let them see his weakness. He always made off like he was coming out on top, like he had something to offer these men, like he wasn't the pathetic or desperate one in this scenario. He was wrong, but as long as he could tell himself that, he could make it through another night of cruel words and rough hands.

He smiled and got flirty when he had to. He learned that the half-whine, half-moan was something that all of them adored. Resisting was the enemy and making his body doll-like warded off potential bruises and greater pain. He avoided confrontation, didn't ask names. He operated by word of mouth, but people knew. Some of them pitied him for it. Others hated him, avoided him at all costs. And then there was Killian.

_Jefferson was exiting the liquor store when he realized just how low and dark the clouds were. He knew it was about to storm and kicked himself for not driving to the store. He sighed, pulled his jacket tighter around his body and held the bottle of whiskey by the neck as he started down the road._

_It began to sprinkle not five minutes later and he still had a while to go. The sun was setting quickly behind him and there was not a car in sight. Most people were already home and settled in for the night. It was cold and they had predicted rain and sleet. Jefferson pulled his hood over his head and now cradled the bottle of liquor in his arm like an infant._

_He walked on as dusk settled in and was surprised when a set of dim headlights approached him from behind. The truck slowed to a stop and when Jefferson turned to look he recognized it: an old rusty Chevy with navy paint that was peeling and rusted along the hood. It belonged to a man who made his living at the docks on a fishing boat. His name was Captain Hook, Jefferson knew, from the story book. But everyone here called him Killian. He was devilishly handsome and said to be dangerous. He was known for being particularly popular with women, although Jefferson had never actually_ seen _him with one of them._

_The truck began to pace him and finally Jefferson stopped, looking over into the truck from under the hood of his jacket. "Can I help you?"_

_Killian leaned across the front seat toward the open window. "That depends if what I've been told is true. Are you for hire?"_

" _Who wants to know?"_

_Killian chuckled and licked his teeth. "What will it cost me?"_

_Jefferson shifted his weight on his feet, hesitant. Nervous. He'd never been approached this bluntly before. Usually they flirted first. At least, that's what happened with Doctor Whale. Jefferson wasn't used to such nonchalance._

" _Depends on what you're looking for, I guess."_

" _You guess or you know? If I'm wasting my time here, I'd like to know so I can get home. It's rather nasty out."_

_Jefferson took a deep breath. "Hundred if you want all the bells and whistles. Forty if you just want me to blow you."_

_Killian thought for a minute and nodded with a jerk of his head. "Climb in."_

_*_

_"After you, Captain," Jefferson said, motioning to the front door, his bottle of whiskey still cradled in the crook of his arm._

_"So you know who I am."_

_Jefferson walked in after him, closing the door and setting his bottle of whiskey on the foyer table. "Unlike most of the town, yes, I've still got my memories. And it seems you do, too."_

_Killian gave him a knowing smirk. "Where's your hat?"_

_"Can we not get into this? If it's okay with you, I'd like to get this over with." He shed his jacket and walked upstairs. He felt Killian's eyes on him as he ascended the stairs. He led Killian to his bedroom, pushing open the door and turning the light on. Everything was in its place, perfect and pristine as if from the pages of a magazine._

_"Do you bring all your dates here?" Killian quipped._

_Jefferson ignored him. "A hundred upfront. Now."_

_"What, you don't think I'm good for it?"_

_"Upfront," Jefferson repeated. "Now."_

_Killian lackadaisically pulled out his wallet, thumbing through the bills until he counted exactly five twenties. He offered them to Jefferson, arm outstretched, eyebrow arched, waiting._

_Jefferson snatched them, his distaste for this man clear and vivid. "Pirate," he hissed._

_"Yeah, well." Killian took off his jacket and tossed it to the floor before he unbuttoned his shirt. He was lean but toned, his chest dusted with hair. Jefferson tried not to look but couldn't help himself. He was perched on the edge of his bed, long legs dangling beneath him. They stayed like that for a moment, watching each other, until Killian reached down and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He pushed them down past his hips until they pooled at his ankles. Jefferson swallowed at the sight of Killian's cock, thick and hard and a lot bigger than he expected. He thought Killian's act was just that—an act_ — _to compensate for his small penis. That was definitely not the case. That only made Jefferson hate him more._

_"Something wrong?" Killian asked, feigning innocence._

_Jefferson seethed. "Do you want to prep me or not?" he asked impatiently._

_"Of course. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't?"_

The sex had been mind blowing and that made Jefferson hate Killian even more. His anger and bitterness crept out through his words. Had Jefferson not treated Killian so poorly, he probably wouldn't have retaliated with his own vulgar insults:  _filthy, desperate, whore._

Jefferson always promised himself not to make a deal with the devil, but that night, he was fairly certain he had. It seemed crazy to him how close they were now, how much they obviously craved the other's company and attention. But now—now Jefferson was sore from being fucked hard by the town doctor and he was in his living room doing line after line after line. All because Killian couldn't— _wouldn't_ stay. Jefferson had needed him, and he wasn't there.

He didn't seem to care anymore. That was an effect of the drug. Jefferson was alert, his energy running high. He looked over at the Christmas decorations sitting in Rubbermaid tubs waiting to be displayed and decided at two o'clock in the morning that he would decorate the whole house, both floors.

He started in the dining room, creating an elaborate tablescape with Pottery Barn pieces that he'd collected over the years. And then came the living room, the study, his bedroom, the hat room—until the only things left at the bottom of the last tub were the Christmas stockings he'd made years ago. One for him, one for Grace. At the sight of them, crushed and flat from being stored under everything else, Jefferson broke. The high left his body as fast as it had appeared. He felt deflated, empty, incomplete. He didn't have time to have a meltdown because he heard the sound of the kitchen door opening.

Jefferson staggered into the kitchen, unkempt, pupils dilated, mouth slack, to find Killian entering his kitchen. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I planned to bring you donuts before work because I felt guilty for not staying over last night. When I went to pay for them, my billfold was mysteriously empty."

Jefferson shrugged, shifting his weight on his feet.

Killian licked his lips, eyes a new sort of cold blue that Jefferson has never seen. "What did you do, Jefferson?"

"I decorated for Christmas," he spat, mocking. He gestured wildly and smiled, all teeth. "Didn't you notice?"

Killian took in Jefferson's appearance: pupils, messy hair, sweat-sheened forehead. His speech was erratic, he'd been awake all night; it was obvious. "I can't believe you. I cannot fucking  _believe_ you."

Jefferson shrugged again. "I didn't ask you to."

"After everything I've done for you, you fucking—you fucking  _stole from me_  because I wouldn't stay the night with you? I only had 30 dollars, where did you get the rest of it? Who'd you fuck for the rest of the money, huh?"

The reality of the situation sunk in immediately: Killian knew. He knew and he was  _pissed_. Jefferson didn't even think he'd care, he didn't think that he'd care if Killian found out but he was here now and Jefferson  _did_. He cared so much, he wanted to take it all back, wished his hat would take him to another realm so he wouldn't have to do this. Jefferson began to shake, eyes tearing up.

"Killian—"

He shook his head. "I trusted you. I told you no more drugs, no more men, and you went and  _stole from me_ , but that wasn't enough, was it? You needed more money, so you spread your legs for anyone who was willing to pay you. You're high as a bloody kite," he sighed.

"I'm  _sorry_ ," Jefferson whispered. "I wanted you to stay with me. Things were—things are really bad for me right now. I'm sorry. Please. I needed you." He'd began crying, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I wish I could take it back."

Killian looked away. He wouldn't let Jefferson manipulate him like this anymore. He'd had enough. He took a deep breath, gathered the courage to speak, and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore."

"No! You can't, Killian, please!" Jefferson was sobbing, his heart a gaping wound that his cries poured out of. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—please don't go. It won't happen again, I'm—"

Killian spun around, hand up in defense. "I don't want to hear it. We had a deal, Jefferson, and you broke it. That's not my fault." He walked out the door and down the driveway to his truck. He could hear Jefferson's cries outside. Before it was too late, before he had a chance to change his mind, he steeled himself, climbed into the truck and drove away, not looking back.


	20. Chapter 20

There was absolutely no way Killian could go to work under these conditions. He'd just been driving to the docks, shaken and upset about the exchange between him and Jefferson, when he had to pull over. He was hyperventilating and his symptoms alluded Jefferson's experience days ago: a panic attack. He scrubbed over his face with his hand, and made a call to his job. There was no way he could go to work under these conditions. He rested his head on the steering wheel and closed his eyes.

*

Ultimately he decided to go to Granny's for breakfast. It was bustling with people headed to work and he took a seat on the bar stool in the corner, oblivious to those who buzzed around him.

Ruby approached him with confidence and leaned on the counter, ticket pad and pen in hand. "What'll you have?"

Killian barely met her eyes, too lost in thought to pay much attention to the pretty waitress. When he spoke he didn't even sound like himself. He sounded distant, as if his choice of what to order could impact the rest of his life. "Breakfast platter with a coffee, black. To go. Please."

She briefly scribbled on the top sheet before ripping it off. "You got it."

Ruby disappeared into the kitchen and Killian rested his head in his hands. He didn't understand why Jefferson snapped, why it was so sudden. Had he missed something? Some sort of cosmic sign he'd been sent as a warning that he failed to notice? He cared so much and he worried about him constantly. He knew Jefferson's mental state was teetering, but he'd never thought Jefferson would break their deal, much less steal from him. It hurt, It hurt like fucking _hell_. He cared about Jefferson. He liked him so, so much. He was merely trying to be a responsible adult last night when he'd declined Jefferson's invitation to stay over and he was still missing work regardless.

Had the bar been open Killian would've surely ventured there. Instead he sat on this stool at Granny's, slumped over and miserable, deep in thought about the crazy junkie whore that everyone in town thought Jefferson to be. Killian knew better. Jefferson was tortured, not crazy, he was an addict, not a junkie. Killian had a hard time trying to make an excuse for that last one. Jefferson had exchanged sex for money. He certainly was a whore.

When Ruby returned to Killian's stool she didn't have his order yet, but she crossed her arms and leaned on the counter. "Rough night?"

"You could say that."

"Where's your boyfriend? And by boyfriend I mean Jefferson."

Killian looked up at her, face sullen and eyes drooping. "How'd you know?"

"He only invited me over to his house where the two of you were hosting. You've been going around town together. It's kind of obvious."

"It's more complicated than you think," he muttered. "I'm just... worried, I guess."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Killian shook his head and decided that he'd said enough. "Is there any way you could go check on him later?"

"Why?"

"I can't. I've got... work," he lied. "I could even pay you, if you'd like, but it'd have to wait until—"

"It's fine," Ruby cut in. "I can go after my shift is over at noon. I'll take him some food, too. Do you want me to call you if there's a problem?"

Killian nodded, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser and jotting down his cell number with her pen. "Call me as soon as you know something."

*

Noon came and went. And then one o'clock, and then two. Killian was exhausted but he couldn't sleep. He couldn't focus on anything. He was worried. He was so worried, so scared that something had happened. The clock chimed three and almost immediately his cell phone rang. It was Ruby. Jefferson was in the hospital.


	21. Chapter 21

Killian barely gave the sliding glass doors time to open before he walked into the building. He saw Ruby sitting in the corner, legs crossed, her jacket in her lap.

"What happened?"

Ruby dabbed at her eyes, waterproof makeup still in tact. "I went over there and he was unconscious. I wanted to wait until they got him situated and stable before I called you. They said, um, they said it's an overdose? Maybe? He's breathing on his own but they're giving him oxygen."

"Is he conscious?"

Ruby shook her head.

Killian sat down next to her and felt numb. He covered his eyes with his hands and wanted to cry. It was simple: this was his fault. If he had stayed last night, if he had stayed this morning, if he had heard Jefferson out, none of them would be here. Most importantly Jefferson would be okay.

Ruby put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

After a minute, he looked at her. His eyes were red and glassy. "Can I see him?"

"Sure."

They stood to their feet, the clicks from Ruby's heels echoing throughout the lobby. They walked down the narrow hallway to the ICU. Jefferson was in bed 10.

He looked so peaceful under the florescent lighting, his skin pale against the bleached sheets of his hospital bed. He wore a gown and a nasal cannula. His vitals were fine: 12 breaths per minute, heart rate 68, blood pressure 112/82.

Killian took in a deep breath. It was hard to see him like this. It looked like he was only sleeping. He looked innocent, like a child, face round and dark eyelashes a contrast against his skin. Killian reached out, trailing his fingers along Jefferson's forearm.

"You can go," he said softly, head turned slightly in Ruby's direction. "Thanks for staying with him."

"You'll call me if anything changes?"

Killian nodded. When Ruby left he moved the pathetically uncomfortable, plastic chair that had been against the wall to the side of Jefferson's bed. The tiny ICU was excruciating, cold and sterile. The television on the wall played some daytime television show that no one paid attention to. It was just background noise. Bed 10 was in close enough proximity to the nurses' station that the smell of burnt coffee lingered in the air beneath the smell of latex-free gloves and antiseptic.

He watched Jefferson sleep for a long time, resting an arm and his head on the plastic railing alongside the bed. Seeing Jefferson like this was surreal. He looked so small, so innocent, so untroubled. Killian reached down for Jefferson's hand, limp but still warm, and intertwined their fingers loosely. Jefferson's skin was soft against the callouses of his own.

Killian wanted to say something. He wanted to apologize, but he wanted to wait until Jefferson was awake—he wouldn't be the person who talked to the unconscious or brain-dead patient. Instead he would wait until Jefferson woke to tell him exactly how he felt.

He lifted Jefferson's hand to his lips and kissed the back of it softly before embarrassment washed over him and he dropped it almost immediately. He smiled sadly at Jefferson, wishing things had gone so differently. He wanted him to be okay. He  _needed_  him to be okay.

"Killian?"

His head snapped to the side to find Ruby there with Dr. Whale who was dressed in green scrubs and a lab coat with a stethoscope dangling around his neck.

"I thought you were leaving," Killian replied, standing to his feet.

"I was on my way out when I ran into Doctor Whale. It thought you might want to talk to him." She turned and left once more, leaving the two of them alone.

Whale looked at Jefferson guiltily. Killian wondered why.

"So it's an overdose," Whale began, fiddling with the file in his hand. "Cocaine. I'm not sure if you knew about his drug problem."

Killian nodded; he knew all too well.

"He was dehydrated when he came in, heart racing, high blood pressure. He was unconscious when Ruby found him. We gave him sodium bicarbonate to slow his heart, saline drip to replace some of the fluids he lost."

"And the—?" Killian gestured to his nose.

"His blood oxygen was a little low when he came in, nothing out of the ordinary. We'll probably keep him in here for a couple days and then move him to a regular room. I don't know if rehabilitation is something he'd be interested in but we've got resources for that, too."

"So he should be...?"

"He should be fine," Whale nodded. He left then, his tennis shoes squeaking on the freshly waxed floors.

Killian collapsed into the hard chair as a wave of relief washed over him. He felt better but his stomach still churned with guilt. Had he stayed last night, had he stayed this morning, had he not walked away, Jefferson would be conscious and okay. Part of him was angry that Jefferson fucked someone else, but they could get past that. He knew they could. He didn't even want to know who it was at this point. He just wanted Jefferson to wake up, to promise never to pull anything like this ever again.

*  
  
The hours ticked by. Killian dozed in and out of consciousness himself, leaning against the arm of Jefferson's bed when he needed to nod off and holding Jefferson's hand when he could manage to keep his eyes open. He worried about going to the bathroom and leaving Jefferson's bedside and when he needed to, he tracked down Jefferson's nurse and asked her to stay as he went.

Before he knew it, the sun had set and it was seven o'clock. He settled into his small plastic chair, leaning over the side of Jefferson's bed. He was just dozing off, his fingers still intertwined with Jefferson's, until he heard the clacking of heels at the glass door behind him. He turned to see Ruby standing there holding a bag of delicious-smelling food.

"Hey," she said softly, offering him a smile.

Killian looked at her but couldn't find the gumption to return the smile.

"I brought you dinner." She took a step in and handed him the bag. "Still no change?"

He looked over at Jefferson still sleeping soundly and shook his head. "No. The doctor says he'll be fine, though, so. I figure he'll just sleep it off and be awake in a day or two. Thank you for the food. I haven't eaten since this morning."

Ruby nodded. "Do you want me to stay with him while you go eat? I'm sure you could use a break."

Killian looked at Jefferson once more, hesitant to leave him.

"I'll get you right away if he wakes up. Go," she said, shooing Killian up and out.

He walked out of the ICU and down to the small waiting room int he ER. It was empty, quiet aside from the television that hung on the wall. He sat down and emptied the bag to find a burger, fries, and a piece of white cake. He had no desire to eat but knew that he should. He picked at the fries in between bites of the burger until the frantic clicking of high heels echoed throughout the empty room.

"Killian!"

He turned, half a french fry hanging out of his mouth. "What?"

"He's awake."

Killian bolted up and nearly ran down to Jefferson's room with Ruby trailing behind. His heart was racing, his hands trembling when he reached Jefferson's bedside. And there was Jefferson: broken, humiliated, worried. Awake.

"Oh my god, Killian," Jefferson whimpered. He reached for him like a child, arms outstretched, desperate and needy. Killian was happy to oblige. He leaned down and wrapped Jefferson in a strong, warm hug.

"I'm so sorry, I swear I wasn't trying to hurt myself. I'm so sorry," Jefferson whimpered.

"I know, sweetheart. It's alright, you're alright."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Killian nodded and pulled back a little, pressing his lips to Jefferson's forehead and then to his lips. Jefferson kissed him back weakly and Killian sighed, contented. He needed to get something off his chest, and now was a good of time as any. He leaned down to kiss Jefferson again, softer and sweeter than before. When he pulled away he whispered just barely, "I love you."

Jefferson began to cry softly at that point, clinging to Killian as if his life depended on it. "I love you, too."


	22. Chapter 22

The next day of Jefferson's hospital stay consisted of much talking. Apologies were made. A lot of them, on both parts. Jefferson didn't want to admit who he'd got the money for the coke from and Killian wasn't asking. Killian didn't leave aside from running home to shower in the morning. They moved Jefferson out of ICU and off the oxygen on his third morning there. With more privacy in a separate room, they curled up in Jefferson's cramped hospital bed, Killian's chest pressed to Jefferson's back.

This morning was much like the others: the two of them being woken up by the nurses for shift change. Killian pressed a kiss to Jefferson's cheek before uncurling himself and climbing off the bed with aches in places he wasn't aware he had.

Jefferson yawned and rolled onto his back. "Are you going to get coffee?"

"Yeah, you want a cup?"

"No."

Killian left and when he returned with a cup of fresh coffee from the nurse's station, Dr. Whale was just entering Jefferson's room. He was listening to Jefferson's heart and then slung his stethoscope back around his neck.

"How do you feel about going home today?"

"That'd be great," Jefferson said softly.

Whale nodded. "I'll have your nurse get the discharge papers."

When they were alone, Killian went and sat on the edge of Jefferson's bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked, running his fingers through Jefferson's hair.

"Still tired."

"You'll feel better in a week or so, I'm sure."

He nodded. "I'm planning on going to see Doctor Hopper," he disclosed softly, staring at his lap. "I think it would be good for me."

"Sounds like a plan."

*  
  
They drew up Jefferson's discharge papers and he was out by the early afternoon. He left the hospital in comfortable sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt. At the house, Killian insisted he carry Jefferson inside and he did so, bridal-style with Jefferson laughing all the way. It was a good sound to hear after the rough days they'd just had; a beacon of hope, so to speak.

Killian set Jefferson down on the sofa and kissed him, slow and deep, before Jefferson broke the kiss.

"Easy, tiger," he smiled, resting their foreheads together.

"Just glad to be home alone, I guess. No doctors or nurses to walk in on us."

"Hm, good point." Jefferson kissed him again, soft and sweet. "I think I'm gonna go upstairs and take a nap."

Killian pressed his lips against Jefferson's forehead. "Okay. I'll stay down here and clean up a bit. Holler if you need anything."

"'Kay." Jefferson got up and went upstairs to his bedroom. After spending the last four nights in a hospital bed, his own bed was a glorious sight. He flopped face-down, reaching for the rumpled comforter and pulling it over his exhausted body. He was asleep within minutes.  
  
*

As Jefferson slept upstairs, Killian cleaned up the first floor. He saw the stockings left in the tub, one embroidered with his name and the other with Grace's name. His heart sank and he decided to put the lid on the box. He would let Jefferson decide the fate of them at a later date when he was more recovered.

He glanced at the calendar on Jefferson's refrigerator. He couldn't believe it was nearly Christmas. A week and three days to spare, and he hadn't bought Jefferson anything. He added that to his mental list of things to do.

Suddenly, a large gust of wind seemed to blow through the entire town at once: a cloud of memories flooding the townspeople, a broken spell. Killian felt it, knew what it had to be, but not knowing what caused it.

 _Grace_.

She would be looking for Jefferson. Killian knew she would. She'd be desperate to find her him.

Killian grabbed his coat, keys and cell phone before rushing out the door.  
  
*

He sat outside the school, leaning on his truck and watching the uniformed kids stream out of the double doors. Pre-teens ran to their parents with newly remembered memories. He watched for ten minutes as groups emerged until, finally, it seemed as if the school was empty. Kids stopped coming and Killian wondered if he'd missed her somehow. But then, alone and visibly upset, a small girl with long, brown hair and sad eyes came through the glass doors.

Killian watched for passing cars before he jogged across the street and approached her. "Paige?"

She turned to Killian hesitantly, unsure if she were answering to her own name, her vision blurred with tears. "Do I k-know you?"

He shook his head, wondering how to explain this without giving the child the wrong impression. He'd repeated the story to himself and it sounded bizarre, made up:  _I'm a friend of your dad's and he's worried about you and I'd like to bring you to him._  It was every cliche kidnapper's story.

"No," Killian said, shaking his head. "My name is Killian. Paige, the curse—do you remember?"

"Sort of?" she shrugged haplessly.

"Do you remember your name? Your  _real_ name."

"It's Grace," she nodded. "I remember. I go by Paige here but my-my father called me Grace when we lived in the cabin. The cabin in the woods. Everyone else can remember their parents, their  _real_ parents, and I don't have two parents I only have my dad. But I-I can't remember his name."

"Was— _is_ his name Jefferson?" he supplied.

"Yes! I—I think that was it." Grace looked calmed by this news, her expression softening and eyes widening with hope. "Do you know my papa?"

Killian nodded. "He's been waiting for you for a long time. He misses you."

She reached up to wipe her tears away with the back of her hand. "Do you know where he lives?"

"Yes," he answered too eagerly. "Would you like me to take you to him?"

She nodded exuberantly and took Killian's hand before he offered it to her. They walked back to his truck with haste and set off toward the house.

"How long have you known my papa?" Grace asked, looking over at the man with dark hair and bright blue eyes. They were in the truck now and Grace's backpack sat by her feet.

"A while."

"Did you know him when we lived in the cabin?"

"Not that long."

"Oh." Grace nodded, folding her hands in her lap.

Within minutes they pulled up to the huge house.

"My papa lives  _here_?" she asked, clearly in awe of the size of the house.

"Sure does."

"Is he rich?"

"You could say that."

Killian parked in the circular driveway and went around to help Grace out on her side. They approached the porch with haste, Killian leaving Grace outside with a "wait here" as he went in. The front door remained open and he was certain he'd never taken any flight of stairs faster in his life. When he got to the master bedroom, Jefferson was still sound asleep.

"Jefferson," he called.

From deep within his slumber, Jefferson felt a hand on his cheek and groaned softly.

"Love," Killian repeated, stroking Jefferson's face gently. "Wake up."

"Hm?" he asked, his eyes finally opening.

Killian's face was full of an emotion he couldn't quite decipher.

"What'd I miss?" Jefferson asked through a yawn.

Killian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The curse's broken."

Jefferson came-to rather quickly, his eyes widening as he sprang into a sitting position. "What? How?"

"I don't know, it just happened." He spoke quickly. "I was in the kitchen and it just  _happened_. Swan must've returned and believed or—or something. That's beside the point—it happened when you were asleep. Grace is downstairs waiting for you."

"Grace? Grace is downst—" Jefferson fumbled with the blankets, swung his legs over the side of the bed and raced to the top of the stairs. The door was wide open and his knees went weak when he saw her.

"Papa!"

Jefferson was at the bottom of the stairs before Grace was and he fell to his knees, enveloping his daughter with every fiber of his being. He squeezed her tightly, so tightly that he's sure he made it difficult for her to breathe. He buried his face in her hair and she smelled like shampoo and cotton candy body spray.

"My Grace," he whispered, eyes filling with tears. "I've missed you so much, baby."

She wrapped her arms around his neck just a little tighter. "I missed you, too. Mr. Killian found me and brought me to you."

"He did?" Jefferson smiled, pulling back and glancing over his shoulder. Killian was at the top of the stairs, watching them with a small smile.

"That was awfully nice of him, wasn't it?"

Grace nodded and kissed Jefferson's cheek. "Papa, can I stay with you?"

"Of course you can stay with me!" He finally let her go and stood up, taking her hand. "Are you hungry? I can get you a snack."

"Okay," she nodded in agreement. He lead her into the kitchen, scrounging around in the pantry until he found a package of Oreos and accompanied them with a glass of cold milk.

After she was situated, Jefferson wondered into the living room to find Killian standing at the bottom of the stairs, unsure of where he stood. His fate was sealed when Jefferson crossed the room and took his face in his hands, kissing him slow and deep.

"Thank you," he whispered as he pulled away. "For everything."


	23. Eilogue

It was Christmas morning and Jefferson and Killian were cuddled on the couch under a blanket. Their mantle was decorated with elaborate Christmas decor including a stocking for Killian that Jefferson sewed just days before the holiday.

Grace was on the floor in her pink flannel pajamas sitting cross-legged with unwrapped gifts surrounding her. Jefferson had argued that since this was their first Christmas together in a long, long time he had every right to spoil her regardless of the cost. Killian and Jefferson decided to exchange one small gift between themselves after all was said and done.

After unwrapping a new laptop which was specified to be for  _school use only_ , Grace turned to her father with a wide smile.

"Now it's your turn, Papa."

Jefferson smiled, a hand on Killian's knee, and was presented with a simple gift wrapped in brown craft paper and burlap ribbon. He took it and gently unwrapped it, his face lighting up when he saw what was under the paper: a silver picture frame with a candid photo of himself and Grace building a snowman taken only days ago. He grinned and tilted his head, giving Killian a chaste kiss on the mouth.

"I love it," he said. "Now yours." Jefferson grabbed his own gift from where it sat beside him, a very small and ornate gift box wrapped in gold embossed paper. He watched as Killian opened it, lightly biting his bottom lip and hoping for the best.

"A key?"

Jefferson nodded. "It's a key to the house."

After a moment, it seemed to click. Killian turned to him, one eyebrow quirked. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

Jefferson nodded, his lip still between his teeth, and wasn't expecting it when Killian pulled him in for a deep, dramatic kiss, nearly dragging Jefferson into his lap. Jefferson was laughing when he pulled away, a deep, belly-shaking laugh, and Killian kissed him once more with the key held tightly in his hand.

"Was that a yes?" Jefferson asked comically.

"It was a yes."


End file.
